


Rebirth

by fullofstarlight



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Version of Daenerys, Dark Dany, F/M, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, Jon Snow is a Targaryen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2019-11-23 16:11:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 60,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18154100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullofstarlight/pseuds/fullofstarlight
Summary: Jon Snow dies a bastard and is reborn a King.Or...In which, Jon sees the truth of his true parentage in death and remembers it when he returns to the world of the living.[Season 6 AU with book details mixed in.]





	1. Jon I

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost, I'm a little nervous entering this fandom. I've seen a lot of the ship wars on social media so posting this is a little bit daunting. But, here it goes everything, I guess.
> 
> Jon is not Aegon in this. I changed his name to Jaehaerys, because it makes no sense for Rhaegar to name both of his sons Aegon. 
> 
> I half-assed this idea once before. So, if it looks familiar to you, you've probably read the first few chapters I beta-tested about a year back. It had a lot of problems I needed to fix. So, I took it down to rewrite it when I had more time to work out the finer details of the story. 
> 
> Finally, I know a lot of people prefer Jonerys to Jonsa in this fandom. In this fic, Dany is the antogonist and a tyrant (as the season 6 scripts have also recently revealed in canon; go check out The Battle of the Bastards official script for more clarity). So, if Jonerys is your preference, click out of this fic and find something you'll enjoy rather than writing harassing posts in the comments section. Please and thank you.

Death is cold as ice with a bite like the northern winter wind. Jon looks down at the body that once belonged to him. There’s a blank stare in eyes that is devoid of all emotion. His first thought is to draw in a deep breath, but he cannot seem to breathe because he no longer needs to breathe. He just exists in an in-between place that is neither here nor there.

 

Jon moves his hands before his eyes, staring down at a limb that is now free from the burn that once started at his hand and trailed up his forearm. His flesh is as clear as it was before he left Winterfell and now completely free of the scar that once marked him. Jon drops his hands to his side and looks upon the blood that stains the snow around what used to be his body. He should feel something, but there’s this relief in death he never thought he’d ever embrace. His suffering is finally over. There is only everlasting peace ahead of him.

 

Then, _she_ appears. It’s as if she emerged within what a living human would call a blink of the eye. Jon studies the woman standing in a white gown that is stained with blood from her belly all the way down to the ends of her dress. Grey eyes look to him, and when their eyes meet, he can feel a sense of familiarity to this face he’s never seen before.

 

The woman’s hand reaches out to him. In the softest whisper, she calls out to him. “Jaehaerys!”

 

Jon steps toward her. His hand reaches out towards her. Somehow he can feel that this woman means something to him. There’s a desperation to just reach her, but just before their fingers touch, she seems to fall away from him. Castle Black falls apart around him, piece by piece. Jon shuts his eyes, trying to will himself away from it all.

 

_Winterfell..._

 

_Arya..._

 

Jon’s eyes open. He had expected to see the sister he was closer too, but he sees Sansa Stark instead. She’s alive still, laying in what was once her parents’ bed. Tears fall down her face. She jolts up from where she lays. He’s never seen this look upon her face. The look of sheer terror that forms in her soft blue eyes is chilling.

 

Sansa draws a heavy blanket over her as if it can protect her from something. _No—not something—someone._ Jon pivots on his foot. A man stands at the other side of the room, and in this man’s eyes, he sees the most hateful, cruel look. The man walks toward Sansa as a twisted smile forms on his lips. He rips the blanket from her body exposing her naked body. His eyes look over Sansa’s naked flesh hungrily. He tugs on her red hair, forcing her to look upon him. Jon's hands ball into fists. He rushes towards this horrible man and tries to connect his fist with the man’s jaw.

 

The room dissolves around him right before his fist hits the man’s face. Everything is cold and dark. He tries to go back to Sansa—tries to save her—but he can’t. He just stands in darkness. Jon does a full circle, searching for something—searching for anything.

 

Jon stops when he sees a faint light in the distance. His eyes focus on that light, trying to make out what it might be. He moves towards it, watching as the light reveals a path of lush greens and large trees. The trees are familiar to him, and suddenly, he recognizes exactly where he is, the Godswood of Winterfell. _Sansa._ He has to get back to Sansa. He has to save her.

 

“Sansa!”

 

“I’ve watched it for years, the pain and suffering that has come upon my family. I can’t save her. You can’t save her. All the dead can do is watch and mourn.”

 

Jon knows that voice. He turns around to see Eddard Stark sitting underneath a giant weirwood tree. Every muscle in Jon’s body freezes as he looks upon his father. The same solemn look rests upon his face. Even in death, Eddard Stark is the same man he was when he was living. Jon manages to take a single step forward. It’s so warm here— _too warm._ Winter is coming, and Winterfell must be covered in a blanket of ice. This isn’t the godswood. This is the afterlife.

 

“Father…”

 

“Jaehaerys...” Eddard Stark’s gray eyes glance up to him with a level of severity Jon has never seen from his father. “I am not your father. I lied to you, to my wife, to my King—I lied to everyone to protect you.”

 

“No,” Jon shakes his head. “ _No_ —none of what you’re saying can be true.”

 

“You are not Jon Snow,” his father looks to him with regret in his eyes. “You are not my son. I should have told you the truth sooner. Perhaps you might have lived if I had.”

 

Jon’s eyes unfocus as Eddard Stark and the godswood seem to fall away from him. Jon collapses to his knees. Everything is so dark and he feels so alone. If he is not Eddard Stark’s son, who could he possibly be? Was he truly just a nobody? It makes his death feel all the more ominous. Jon shuts his eyes, trying to will it all away. Death was supposed to be the end of his suffering, but he suffers more in death than he had when he was among the living.

 

“My son…”

 

Jon’s eyes snap open. A man with silver hair and purples eyes looks down upon him. Tiny little pieces connect together in his mind. The truth is becoming so clear to him now, and yet, he cannot embrace it. Jon rises to look upon the man across from him. A tower stands tall behind them both. In the distance, Jon can see young Eddard Stark walking towards the tower. Jon looks to the man across from him, seeing the truth within his violet eyes.

 

“Jaehaerys, the truth awaits you within that tower. You must see it before you can pass onto the afterlife.”

 

Jon can only nod towards the man. He sprints after young Eddard Stark. His feet move up the steps of the tower as the truth starts to unveil itself in his mind. He already knows what he will see within those tower’s walls. He already knows the truth behind the lie that Eddard Stark had told the Seven Kingdoms. And yet, he needs to see it. Jon steps inside the tower right after young Eddard. His eyes fall upon a woman lying on a bloodstained bed in the company of two handmaidens. It’s the same woman that had called out to him right after he died.

 

“Ned…”

 

“Lyanna…”

 

“Is that you?” her voice is so fragile and weak. “Is that really you? You're not a dream…”

 

“No, I’m not a dream,” Eddard Stark reassures. “I’m here— _right here._ ”

 

“I’ve missed you, big brother,” her voice is shaking.

 

“I’ve missed you too.” Eddard looks into his sister’s eyes with such sorrow but also with such warmth.

 

All Jon can do is look upon the scene before him. Lyanna offers a newborn baby boy to Eddard Stark. Eddard takes the child in hand, holding him close to his chest.

 

“His name is Jaehaerys Targaryen,” Lyanna says. “You have to protect him. _Promise me, Ned…_ ”

 

One of Lyanna’s handmaidens turns to face Jon. He recognizes her vibrant red hair. Her piercing eyes look to him with such undeniable sorrow. _Ygritte…_

 

A rueful smile curves on her lips right before she says, “You know nothing, Jon Snow.”

 

* * *

 

Jon’s eyes snap open. He draws in a deep breath before dissolving into a coughing fit. Jon falls off the table and onto the ground. Ghost is rushing to his side, whining as he nudges Jon with his head. Jon presses his hands against the floor. He coughs blood onto the wooden floor beneath him.

 

 _It was all a bad dream,_ Jon tells himself. He had merely dreamt it all—the betrayal of the men he considered his brothers in arms. He had dreamt of his own death. He had dreamt the afterlife. _No_ —none of it what real. He had fallen from exhaustion and dreamt it all. The stress of the army of the dead had caused him to collapse. _None of it was real._

 

 _Sam._ He must find Sam. Sam will explain everything.

 

Jon brings his burnt hand to his face and turns his hand over to look upon the burn scar. He lets out a deep groan and drops his hand to his chest. His stomach slips when he feels a wound. A chill runs down his spine. He sits up and looks down in horror at all the stabbing wounds that are scattered on his chest. His breath becomes heavy as panic starts to overcome him. Jon touches each wound individually, feeling them just to be sure that they are real.

 

Tears brim his eyes as his hand trembles over each wound. He lifts his eyes to the ceiling and sucks in a deep breath. He died and someone brought him back to life. None of his visions were nightmares. All this time he believed himself to be a bastard when he’s been the true heir to the Iron Throne and the Targaryen House this whole time. His heart sinks at the thought of Maester Aemon. _If only he were alive now…_

 

If his visions were real, that could only mean that Sansa Stark—the sister he hardly knew—is in grave danger. His heart pounds against his chest and he feels as if he might die again. He’s the only one left alive that can help her, but how can he? He has no armies to siege Winterfell. The world only sees him as the bastard of Winterfell with no claim and no birthright.

 

The creaking sound of the floor panes snap Jon from his thoughts. He looks to Davos standing in the door frame. Davos rushes towards him and grabs a cloak from the floor. Davos tosses the cloak over Jon to shield his naked body.

 

“Easy,” Davos whispers.

 

The Red Woman skirts sway as she walks inside the room. Her deep red eyes stare down at him in pure shock. _She did this._ But, it would seem that she did not expect that it would work. Jon looks back to Davos who’s eyes look just as stunned as Melisandre’s.

 

“What do you remember?” Davos asks.

 

“They stabbed me,” his words are stiff. “Olly...he put a knife in my heart... _I shouldn’t be here._ ”

 

“The lady brought you back,” Davos says.

 

Melisandre approaches him. Her eyes are studying him closely. She leans forward so that she is at his level. “What happened afterward? After they stabbed you? After you died? Where did you go? What did you see?”

 

Lyanna Stark, Eddard Stark, and Rhaegar Targaryen flit through his mind. He looks to Melisandre, the truth on the tip of his tongue, but when he looks to Davos, he sees a look of caution in his eyes. He does not trust the Red Woman for undisclosed reasons. Jon weighs both options in his mind—to lie or to tell the truth.

 

Sansa Stark comes to his mind once more. Can he still save her? Jon is afraid if he speaks the truth that he’ll put a target on his back before he can help her. Eddard Stark had lied to protect him. Maybe there is an honest reason to lie after all.

 

Jon looks towards Melisandre with a stern look on his face and finally gives her an answer. “ _Nothing…_ ”

  
  
  
  



	2. Sansa I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things before we begin: Sansa's trauma is explored in this chapter more than it was on the show. There are elements of post-traumatic stress disorder at the end of this chapter. I've taken a little bit from my own experiences with PTSD so this chapter was very therapeutic.
> 
> Jon's identity crisis is having him behaving in strange ways, but he will find himself soon enough. I think Sansa's really going to push him to find his purpose just like she did on the show. There are also a lot of Protective!Jon moments in this chapter that I hope you all enjoy.
> 
> Finally, the response to this was so amazing. I never expected to get so many comments for this. You all really inspired me to type this chapter out today and get the ball going. Thank you all so, so much.
> 
> To that Dany Stan that commented last chapter. It's all in the Battle of the Bastards script that was recently released. Enjoy season 8! :D

The journey to Castle Black was not without challenges. Sansa Stark had thought she would be used to the cold, but the further their party went north the harsher the weather grew. Despite the harsh weather conditions, she pushed forward. The truth of the matter was that she had no choice but to complete her trek to Castle Black or die trying. The alternative was returning to Ramsay’s bed and facing his wrath. Sansa shivers at the thought. The last time he had forced himself on her, she had felt a chill in the room. It was as if someone was there with them.

  
  
Tears threaten to fall, but she pushes them back. The three fortnights it had taken for them to ride to Castle Black might have been challenging, but it will never be as horrible as remaining in Winterfell with that monster. She would rather die out in the cold than go back to Ramsay Bolton.

  
  
Sansa’s eyes glance up at the seemingly never-ending wall just ahead of her. Even from the outside, it looks so dreary. Sansa thinks that a lifetime of service in such a bleak place would feel so hopeless. It’s no wonder there are men that desert their posts. Her eyes study the wall. It’s so high, but that will work well to keep Ramsay out if he ever rides north of Winterfell. She will be safe here with Jon.

  
  
_Jon._ She had such a horrible dream about him the night before Ramsay had last forced himself upon her. He was dying so alone in the snow. She had even thought she heard Ghost howl when she woke from her nightmare. _Jon is alive,_ Sansa tells herself. Her nightmare was perpetuated by all the death she’s seen in her family rather than a prophecy. _He is alive,_ she has to mentally reassure herself of this one more time, because Jon is all she has. He cannot leave her like everyone else has.

  
  
Sansa approaches the gate to see men on both sides of doors that look impossible to move. The men study her with curiosity and confusion. One of them eyes her in that way that men eye women when they want something from them. Brienne shifts her horse in front of Sansa protectively. A weight seems to lift off her shoulders as a feeling of security runs through her. Brienne will keep her safe now and soon Jon will too.

  
  
“Who the hell are you?” One of the men looks to Brienne with disgust but also a hint of curiosity.

  
  
“We have come here to see Lord Commander Snow,” Brienne’s voice is heavy and clipped. “I am a knight pledged to Lady Sansa Stark who is here to see her half-brother.”

  
  
There is a snickering sort of laughter that comes from the men. The man that addressed Brienne half-grins at her. “Lord Snow hasn’t been right lately. Not since his own men turned on him. You're more than welcome to see him regardless."

  
  
_Jon’s own men turned against him?_ Sansa’s heart flutters with panic. It would seem that the games of King’s Landing exist even in Castle Black. Sansa sucks in a deep breath. _Jon is alive._ That’s what truly counts.

  
  
A horn blares, startling Sansa from her thoughts. A man cries out, _“Open the gates!”_ Sansa looks in awe as the large doors open before her. Every inch of her is overcome with excitement. It’s close to the same feeling she felt when leaving King’s Landing, but this is so much different. There is this feeling of desperation, because Jon is the last of her family. She needs him far more than she ever needed people like Joffrey or any of the Lannisters.

  
  
Sansa’s horse trots inside, following closely behind Brienne but also with Pod by her side. Her eyes scan each face inside the gates, searching for the boyish face she remembers from her childhood. All the faces around her are worn and tired. There’s a defeated look in the eyes of these men. The things that they have seen must have left them looking so hopeless. _What lies beyond the wall?_ Sansa’s almost afraid to ask.

  
  
She’s growing restless on the saddle of her horse. So, Sansa dismounts and plants her booted feet onto the ground. She pivots as her eyes search for any sign of Jon. Then, she sees him standing on top of an upper deck so high above her. His hands rest on the wooden railing as he looks down upon her in sheer shock. It takes him a moment to move, but when he finally does, his steps are slow as he walks down the stairs from the upper deck down to the ground. He walks towards her and pauses just a few steps away from her.

  
  
Sansa cannot even think to stop herself from running toward him and throwing herself into his arms. Jon is not only alive, but also welcoming her back into his life with open arms. Tears are at the brim of her eyelids as she clings to him tightly. He lifts her off of her feet into a tight embrace. It’s been so long since someone has held her like this. She could almost cry, but she can’t let herself do so. _Not here_ —not where people can see her.

  
  
“I was going to come and get you,” Jon whispers. “But, you’re here now. You’re safe with me.”

  
  
Jon sets her down on her feet and pulls away from her. He sets both hands on the sides of her shoulders. He looks upon her face and brushes a stray snowflake off of her cheek. His dark eyes look down on her with warmth she hasn’t seen in another man’s eyes in so long.

  
  
Jon motions for her to follow him back up the stair case to the upper deck. Sansa’s feet are heavy as iron with each step she takes. A step creeks underneath her feet and her hand flies to the railing. She’s been edge like this even before Ramsay. This started in King’s Landing with Joffrey. Sansa’s hand tightens around the railing. Her eyes look up to Jon who is looking towards her over his shoulder. He turns back to her and steps down to offer her his hand. Sansa takes his hand in hers and allows Jon to lead her up the rest of the steps.

  
  
Jon leads her inside a room. He removes his hand from hers and places it on the middle of her back to guide her inside. Sansa steps inside the room, eying a desk of papers at the end of the room. This must be the Lord Commander’s solar. Sansa walks over to the desk and sets her fingers on it. She runs her index finger and middle finger along the wooden surface. It’s hard to believe she’s here. Sansa shifts on her feet and turns to face Jon. They stand in complete silence as if they are both waiting for the other to speak first.

  
“I ran from Winterfell. I’m here to take shelter from our families enemies—the Boltons,” Sansa pauses as Littlefinger also comes to mind, “ _and others._ ”

  
  
A certain look crosses Jon’s features as he looks to her. _Empathy_ —that’s something Sansa hasn’t seen from a man in a long time. Jon is still Jon after all. She’s grateful that even after all this time that he’s managed to maintain a measure of decency. So many others are after their own interests in the Seven Kingdoms. Littlefinger flashes in her mind again. She should have never put any trust in him.

  
  
“I will keep you safe here, Sansa,” Jon says her name so easily without any of the titles she’s used to hearing. It brings a soft smile to her face. “Castle Black will shelter you. I won’t let the Boltons come for you, and if they do, I will protect you even if it kills me.”

  
  
Sansa studies Jon’s face. He’s ghostly pale and his eyes look onto her with a certain hint of sadness that she can’t quite decode. “I was cruel to you, Jon, when we were kids.”

  
  
“You weren’t cruel,” Jon says. “There was a dynamic between your parents that we didn’t understand as children. You were just protecting your mother’s honor.”

  
  
_Your parents?_ Sansa studies Jon. Eddard Stark was his father too. Castle Black may have stripped him of his identity once he pledged his service to the Night’s Watch, but it doesn’t change that Eddard Stark fathered him.

  
  
“My father was your father too,” Sansa reinforces. “My mother may not have liked it, but it doesn’t change the truth.”

  
  
Sansa waits for Jon to speak, but all he can do is look to her with this severe look in his eyes. Ramsay had been so confident of taking the Bolton name, but here Jon stands right before her as if he’s in denial of who he truly is.

  
  
“Sansa, you can stay here as long as you wish,” Jon says. “But, I am no longer Lord Commander. They will elect someone in my place. When that time comes, we both might be asked to leave Castle Black.”

  
  
Several questions flit through Sansa’s mind, and yet, she settles on the simplest one. “Where will you go?”

  
  
“ _Where will we go?_ ” Jon corrects with a slight smile. “If I don’t watch over you, your father’s ghost will come back and murder me.”

  
  
“ _Our father,_ ” Sansa insists. She waits for Jon to correct himself, but all he can do is stand and look to her. She continues despite Jon’s silence, “Jon there is only one place we can go. _Home._ ”

  
  
Sansa’s eyes glance over his pale face, searching desperately for some kind of unseen answer to his strange behavior. Jon expels a deep breath into the air before finally giving her an answer. “Winterfell is your home. I want more than anything to help you, Sansa, but I don’t have an army.”

  
  
“Winterfell is your home too,” Sansa raises her voice, trying with all her might to convince him. “ _Jon…_ ”

  
  
Jon’s eyes become glossy as he looks to her. Jon’s moods have never been anything like a ray of sunshine, but she can see a measure of sorrow within his dark eyes that she’s never seen before. All she can do is manage to say his name one more time in a soft, lilted voice. “ _Jon…_ ” It sounds like a plea more than it sounds like his name.

  
  
“You’ve traveled far. You must be starving,” Jon abruptly changes the subject.

  
  
Sansa steps forward and opens her mouth to argue, but Jon has already opened the door to his solar. She stands in silence for a moment before finally moving to meet Jon. _This conversation isn’t over yet,_ Sansa thinks to herself. She’ll convince him to fight for Winterfell, and she’ll restore his faith in his Stark ties. Sansa steps towards Jon and joins him by his side.

  
  
A thought flits through her mind. _Something is terribly wrong._ Sansa searches her mind to find what Jon might be hiding from her, but she draws a blank. _If only Arya were here,_ Sansa thinks to herself. Arya knows Jon better than she does.

  
  
_Jon, what has happened to you?_

 

* * *

  
  
The preparations needed for herself and her party were minimal. Sansa had left Winterfell with nothing but the clothes on her back. She’ll have to sew herself new clothes with the little materials she can obtain from her vantage point. Fresh clothes are the first of many things she needs before taking back Winterfell.

 

The rest of the day was relatively normal until the moment one of the black brother’s eyed her suggestively before making kissing sounds. Jon had slammed the man into a wall and held his hand against his throat. The threatening stare on his face was terrifying, but not as terrifying as the way he said, _“You touch her, you die.”_ After the altercation, Jon called Ghost toward them both and informed her that Ghost will stay with her at all times.

  
  
Now the sun has fallen behind the sky and night has taken over Castle Black in a sheet of sheer darkness she’s not accustomed to even at Winterfell. Sansa stands with Ghost as she looks out on the starry sky. Her gloved hand runs over Ghost’s white fur affectionately. Lady comes to mind and she feels a tightness in her chest at her last memories of her pet wolf. She wonders if Bran or Rickon’s pet wolves are still amongst the living or if Ghost truly is the last of them.

  
  
The sound of boots crunching in the show pull her from her thoughts. Fire from a nearby torch lights the right side of Jon’s face in a soft glow. Beneath the surface, she can sense there’s something more. He’s suffered. His suffering may be far different than hers, but he’s suffered all the same. There is a story behind the sorrow in his stare, and she’s afraid to find out what might have caused that sorrow.

  
  
Jon offers her his gloved hand as a gesture for her to follow him. Sansa steps forward and allows for him to wrap his arm around her as if he’s shielding her. He leads her up a twisting flight of wooden steps and stops before a room. Keys jingle as he unlocks the door to a large room. Sansa steps inside first, her eyes falling onto a lit fireplace as well as a large bed in the center of the room. She spots a pile of bedding on the floor a few feet from the fireplace. _For Ghost?_

  
  
Sansa walks over toward the bed and sits down. She hears the door click shut and her eyes look up to Jon. He walks over to the bed and pats the bedding. _“Ghost! Up!”_ Ghost leaps onto the bed and circles on top of the bedding before settling into a ball of white fluff. Jon sits down across from her, resting both his palms on his knees. He glances over at Sansa before his eyes drop down to the floor.

  
  
“These are my chambers,” Jon says. “Most of the men from the Night’s Watch are not here for honorable reasons. They are paying penance for past crimes. I want to keep you safe, Sansa. I don’t want anyone else to hurt you.”

  
  
_Anyone else?_ How much does he know about her history? Sansa sees such conflict in his eyes. Something has happened to Jon that has changed him— _something terrible._

  
  
“I’ll be here by your side so no one hurts you,” Jon says before rising from the bed. There is a restless look in the way that he walks toward the bedding laid out of the floor. He wraps himself in a fur blanket and lays on the floor with his back turned away from her.

  
  
It takes a moment for Sansa to finally move. She removes the cloak off her shoulders and folds it neatly before setting it on a nearby nightstand. She pulls off her gloves and her boots, but stops before she removes her grey dress. It’s simple enough to sleep in without being terribly uncomfortable. So, Sansa pulls the covers aside and slips beneath them. She shifts close to Ghost before finally settling herself on the bed. She lays still at first, trying to will herself to sleep. She tries this for what feels like an hour before she sits up in Jon’s bed.

  
  
Sansa eyes Jon who’s still laying with his back to her. Her hands smooth out the bedding over her knees more as a way to distract herself from her own nervousness than anything. She lets out an exasperated breath and lies back down onto the bed. Her eyes feel heavy and soon she allows exhaustion to take her.

  
  
The darkness of her sleep state soon turns to this ripping feeling. She opens her eyes to Ramsay on top of her. His flaying knives are digging into her flesh, peeling the skin from her bit by bit. She turns her face to her side to see Ghost’s white fur stained with blood. Sansa trashes against Ramsay trying to break from his hold on her. She feels a heavy feeling on her shoulders and releases a sharp scream.

  
  
When she opens her eyes, Jon is looking down on her with worried eyes. “Sansa…? Are you alright?”

  
  
Sansa has to force her breath to slow as she looks up to Jon. She means to tell him that she’s fine, but she cannot seem to stop the tears from falling down her cheeks. She throws her arms around him and dissolves into a fit of tears. “ _Jon_ —I saw him! I saw Ramsay Bolton in my dreams! He did things to me at Winterfell! I cannot speak of them! But, he did things to me, Jon!”

  
  
Jon’s arms wrap around her to comfort her. He shushes her in a soothing tone. “Ramsay Bolton isn’t here, and if he comes to Castle Black, I’ll kill him myself. I won’t let him touch you, Sansa.”

  
  
Jon’s voice is so kind and so calming. He’s so different from all the men she’s used to being around. She rests her head close to him. It’s such a tragedy that he was born a bastard and not a lord. Lord Jon Stark would have made some high lady so very happy. Jon parts from her and smoothes her hair out.

  
  
“I will go get you some Essence of Nightshade,” Jon says. “I will not be gone long. Bar the door when I leave.”

  
  
Sansa waits for Jon to leave their shared room before she rushes to the door and bars it shut. She goes back to her bed and sits. She hears a soft whine from behind her and turns to look Ghost is his deep red eyes. Ghost rests his head down on top of his paws and looks up to her. Sansa runs her hands through his hair before curling into him. She lets herself cry and cry the way she’s always wanted to cry in King’s Landing and in Winterfell too. She cries the way she’s never allowed herself to, because Ghost would never use her tears against her like Cersei or Ramsay would. Sansa feels a warm tongue lick her cheek and she even allows herself to giggle between her tears.

  
  
Sansa rubs her eyes to wipe away her tears. She shifts in the bed and looks directly into Ghost’s eyes. He’s looking up at her with that type of look that Lady use to look up at her with. She has to fight her tears back at that thought, because just thinking about Lady brings tears back to her eyes.

  
  
Ghost raises his head from the bed before Jon even knocks at the door. _“Sansa, it’s me!”_ Sansa nearly bounds to the door at the sound of Jon’s voice from the other side of the door. She removes the bar from the door and pulls the door open. Jon enters the room with a vial in his hand. He walks to his nightstand and sets it next to her folded cloak before returning to his spot on the floor. Sansa takes the vail from the nightstand and turns back to see Jon staring into the flames. She goes to him and sits next to him. Sansa pops the vial open and downs the contents of it into her mouth. She sets the empty vial on the floor and rests her head against Jon’s shoulder.

  
  
“Do you remember the Crypts of Winterfell? You had pretended to be a ghost. Robb, Bran, Arya, Rickon—they were all there,” Sansa murmurs. “I remember seeing Lyanna Stark’s statue and then you popped up from behind her. I was so scared and ran away screaming. I still remember the way Robb laughed. I miss him so much…”

  
  
She had meant to say more, but the Essences of Nightshade seems to be weighing on her now. Her eyelids feel so heavy and soon enough sleep takes her.


	3. Jon II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you all for your comments, kudos, subscriptions, and bookmarks! The response to this fic has been amazing. I honestly wasn't sure what to expect since this I'm not familiar with this fandom. This is around where I stopped the last time and decided to scrap the original draft of this fic for later. I will try to make fast updates though.
> 
> To the "guest" comment. You're enthusiasm amuses me. Who even has the time of day to read fic they don't like? 
> 
> Finally, thank you so much to Israfel00 for beta reading this for me. I really do appreciate it!

It’s getting colder. When Jon had first arrived at Castle Black, the biting cold weather wasn’t pleasant but it wasn’t unbearable. Now, it pierces through the furs and leathers even during the warmer parts of the day. It will only get worse. _Winter is coming_ , Eddard Stark used to say so often. Jon now understands that his words were a warning rather than a just words stitched upon banners.

 

The world doesn’t have much time to prepare for the army of the dead. If they expect to survive, each house will have to set aside their petty grievances and come together as one. King Tommen Baratheon sits on the throne with Margaery Tyrell by his side, but Sansa says that none of that matters. Cersei will influence her son more than his wife possibly can. Jon recalls Tommen in Winterfell. He was so young then. It’s hard to believe that he’s already wed.

 

Jon rests his elbows on the wooden desk in his solar. If he took on his Targaryen name, perhaps he could find allies to fight off the army of the dead. The Lannisters and their allies may not help him, but perhaps Dorne and the North might listen. Jon tries to find a pathway to making these alliances. His head starts to hurt at the thought of it all. He knows hardly anything about the current state of affairs in Westeros. _But, Sansa does._

 

Since Sansa arrived in Castle Black, he’s debated whether or not to tell her what he saw in the afterlife. His thought of several ways he can begin the conversation with, but always stops when he gets to the part where he imagines telling her this all happened after he _died_. It sounds too ridiculous to be believed.

 

One day he will have to tell her. It’s not because he wants to use her to stake his claim for the Iron Throne, but because she deserves to know the truth. As far as he knows, Sansa is the last of the Starks. Jon tries to remember the name of the man that saw Eddard Stark defeat Arthur Dayne in combat. He would be able to back up his claim. Eddard Stark had spoke of this story so many times, and yet, the name escapes him.

 

Jon rises from where he sits and sets his hands on the wooden table. Sansa would know the name of this man. She was always so knowledgeable about her histories. Even if she has no formal training in combat, she still knows the names of the Great Houses and the people that fought in them.

 

Jon moves around his desk and leaves his solar. He stops at the railing of the upper deck and scans the grounds for Sansa. He sees her beneath him, kneeling down to Ghost’s level. Sansa glances up at him and he can see a smile curl on her lips. He wastes no time rushing down both flights of stairs to meet with her.

 

“Good morning, Sansa,” Jon smiles when he greets her.

 

Sansa rises to her feet and returns his smile. “Good morning to you, Jon.”

 

Jon’s eyes glance up to the snowflakes falling from the sky. He shifts on his feet before glancing back to Sansa. “I was meaning to talk to you.”

 

“What about?” Sansa replies.

 

The two of them start to walk side by side through Castle Black’s grounds. Jon goes through his words in his head, making sure that they do not sound too eager. “The Wildlings have agreed to help us take back Winterfell, but we will need all the help that we can get.”

 

“Yes. We will need the supporter of the Northern Houses,” Sansa states. “We will have to go to them and ask for their support if we expect to win against the Boltons.”

 

“I was thinking about who might help us. I’ve been at the wall to long so names escape me,” Jon says. “When _father_ defeated Arthur Dayne in combat, he was with another lord. I do not remember his name.”

 

“Howland Reed.” Sansa halts and turns to face Jon. A certain look crosses her features as she looks up into his eyes.

 

“Is he still alive?” Jon asks.

 

“As far as I know.” Sansa looks up at him with a skeptical look in her eye. “I cannot say for sure, but I’m assuming he is. He hasn’t pledged to the Boltons, but he isn’t exactly an urgent priority for them right now.”

 

“So, we ask the Reeds for help.” The words come out faster than Jon had intended them to. “Howland Reed fought with the Starks during Robert’s Rebellion. He will help us if we go to him.”

 

Sansa’s eyes glance over him with a certain level of curiosity. Finally, she replies, “We will need more than House Reed, but it’s a start.”

 

There’s a fleck of doubt that twists inside his chest. “Sansa, you know more than I can about the current state of affairs in Westeros. I need to know that it’s possible to take Winterfell before I risk any lives.”

 

“It’s possible,” Sansa answers. “You know more about combat strategy than I do. We’ll have to look over our options before we leave Castle Black.”

 

“I will write to Howland Reed,” Jon says. “We’ll look over strategy at sunset.”

 

“Jon, if your message is intercepted—”

 

“I won’t write anything that the Bolton’s will find harmful,” Jon reassures. _Reed will understand my words when he reads them,_ Jon thinks to himself.

 

There’s caution in the way Sansa looks to him. “Be careful, Jon. You haven’t played the same kind of games that the Lannisters and the Boltons have. Your written word can be used against you far more than words said out loud.”

 

Jon rests his hand on top of Sansa’s shoulder. He can sense all of her fear and all of her pain just in her facial expression. Joffrey, Cersei, the Boltons—all of them have made her live in a constant state of anxiety. The faintest of smiles emerges on his lips for a brief second before he drops his hand and turns away from her.

 

Jon turns back the way he came and walks toward the flight of wooden stairs that lead to his solar. Halfway up the last flight of stairs, he spots Davos looking over the upper deck. Jon walks up the last steps and stops before Davos. Davos turns to face him, leaving one hand on the wooden railing.

 

“Ser Davos, I need you,” Jon says and motions for him to follow him inside his solar.

 

Once both men are inside the solar, Jon closes the door behind him. He goes to his desk and fetches a piece of parchment from the top drawer. Jon dips a feather in ink and begs to write.

 

_Lord Reed,_

 

_A matter of urgency has occurred at Castle Black that calls for your attention. I will need to speak with you on such matters as soon as possible._

 

_-Lord Commander Jon Snow_

 

Jon dips a fresh feather into red ink and draws a red flame at the end of his name. The words are simple enough not to cause too much alarm if they are intercepted by those with nefarious intentions. Signing it with his title as Lord Commander will also give the illusion that he means to speak of matters concerning the Night’s Watch and dissuade his enemies from taking action.

 

Jon rolls up the piece of parchment and seals it before handing it to Davos. “I need this delivered to Lord Howland Reed at Greywater Watch as quickly as possible, and I want this letter delivered to him by your most trusted man.”

 

Davos dips his head to Jon. “I will do my best to ensure the delivery of this letter, Lord Commander.”

 

“I’m not Lord Commander anymore,” Jon states. “I haven’t been for over a whole moon cycle.”

 

“Then, what do I call you?” Davos replies.

 

“Jon Snow.”

 

* * *

 

The sun is falling from the sky. Jon looks out the window of the room he had set aside to discuss strategy. He turns away from the window and sits across from Sansa at the worn wooden table. Tormund leans against his elbows and shifts his gaze to Brienne. Brienne scoffs at him in disgust and rolls her eyes.

 

Jon grabs a mug of ale and takes a long sip. His eyes catch Sansa’s red hair. It shines so beautifully under the lighting of the torch set at a distance behind her. Jon drops the mug from his lips and lowers it back down from the table. It’s a shame so many men had treated her so poorly. Many good men would lay their entire life at her feet for her hand in marriage.

 

“The Karstarks and the Umbers have already pledged to the Boltons,” Jon begins. “So, what allies do we have left?”

 

Davos leans forward and laces both his hands together on top of the table. “The Mormonts, the Manderlys…”

 

“The Karstarks declared for Ramsay without knowing they had another choice,” Sansa suggests.

 

“I beg your pardon, my lady,” Davos interrupts. “Your brother beheaded their father. I don’t think we can count on them to come to our aid.”

 

Sansa opens her mouth to protest, but the sound of the door slamming open interrupts her. A man clad in all back steps toward Jon and offers him a letter. “A letter for you, Lord Commander.”

 

“I’m not Lord Commander anymore.” It’s the second time Jon has reinforced this notion in one day. He takes the letter regardless and turns it in his fingers till he reaches the deep red seal. Jon eyes Sansa from across the table. Sansa sits up tall and rounds her shoulders back. Jon turns his attention back to the letter. He breaks the seal and unrolls the piece of parchment in his hands.

 

“To the traitor and bastard, Jon Snow,” Jon reads. “You allowed thousands of Wildlings past the Wall. You have betrayed your own kind and you have betrayed the North. Winterfell is mine, bastard, come and see. Your brother Rickon is in my dungeon. His direwolf's skin is on my floor, come and see. I want my bride back. Send her to me, bastard, and I will not trouble you or your Wildling lovers. Keep her from me and I will ride North to slaughter every Wildling man, woman, and babe living under your protection…”

 

A look of sheer disgust comes over him as he reads the rest of the contents of the letter. Rage overcomes him when he reads of the threats of rape on Sansa. _He’s going to kill the bastard._ Jon doesn’t know how, but Ramsay Bolton is going to die. Jon tears the paper clear in half. He places one half on top of the letter and tears once more. Jon tears and tears at the pieces of the letter again and again before finally slamming both fists onto the wooden table.

 

“ _J_ _on…_ ” Sansa’s voice does that lilt it does whenever she’s feeling vulnerable. Jon looks to her. He has to protect her, because if he doesn’t, no one else will.

 

The way Ramsay looked to her in the dreams, the way he looked over her naked flesh—anger burns inside him at the very memory of it. He gathers the shredded pieces of paper from the table into his hands and crushes them inside a tight fist. “He signed as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

 

“Roose Bolton is dead…” Sansa’s face becomes pale when she speaks those words out loud.

 

Jon’s hand turns over. He looks at the crumbled pieces of paper in his hand. His fingers are shaking with rage and all he can think about is cutting Ramsay’s head clear off with Longclaw. He calms himself before he finally addresses Sansa again. “How many men are at his disposal?”

 

“I overheard him say five thousand,” Sansa says. “That was before Stannis attack.”

 

Jon’s gaze shifts to Tormund. “How many men do you have that would be willing to fight?”

 

“Two thousand, give or take,” Tormund answers.

 

Jon lays both his gloved hands flat on the table. He can feel a fire burn within him at the thought of what Ramsay might do to Sansa if he ever takes her captive again. Jon breathes deeply and softens his gaze when he looks upon her.

 

“You are the son of the last true Warder of the North,” Sansa looks to Jon. His eyes lower at her last words. “The Northern families are loyal. They will fight for you if you ask.”

 

“I’m not a Stark,” Jon reinforces what he knows is true. He is not a Stark and never will be. He knows that for certain now.

 

Sansa reaches out to one of and takes his hand in hers. “A monster has taken our home and our brother. We have to go back to Winterfell and save them both.”

 

Jon’s eyes lock with her. He pauses before giving his nod of approval. The table sits in silence as all eyes fall onto Jon. Jon raises from the table. His hands linger on the wood. “I need to be alone.”

 

Tormund, Davos, and Brienne rise from where they sit, but Sansa does not budge from where she sits. Her hand stays intertwined with his.

 

“I wish there was an easier solution to all this,” Jon finally admits. “I want to take Winterfell back and remove Ramsay Bolton from his seat of power. I want to help you, but I don’t know if it’s possible.”

 

“You are my father’s son,” Sansa argues. “The Northern Houses know this—”

 

“I’m not a Stark. I will never be a Stark.” It’s at the tip of his tongue--the truth, that is. He thinks for a moment if it would strengthen his claim to the North, but all he can think about is Robert’s Rebellion. The North does not want a Targaryen leader. That much was proven when Robert Baratheon waged a war to unseat Aerys from the Iron Throne.

 

“None of that matters,” Sansa’s hold on Jon’s hand tightens. “All that matters is that you are our father’s son. The North believed in our father. They will fight for you.”

 

The way her eyes look to him with such a bright glimmer of hope makes it impossible for him to refuse her. He gives her a soft nod before saying, “I will fight for you, Sansa. I’ve already sent word to Howland Reed. Surely there are others that want to be rid of the Boltons.”

 

“There are.” Sansa gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “We will find allies. We’ll make this work. I don’t know how, but we will, Jon.”

 

“Tommen is not a Baratheon,” Jon states. “That is why this war ravage Westeros in the first place. None of Cersei’s children are Robert’s. Ramsay Bolton was legitimized by a fraud. That, among other things, might be enough to convince people to help us.”

 

“I believe our father. He meant to tell the truth and he paid for it with his life,” Sansa replies.

 

“I believe him too,” Jon says. “When we take back the Winterfell, we cannot bend the knee to Tommen. He doesn’t have a legitimate claim to his seat of power. The North belongs to the Starks.”

 

Sansa’s eyes flash with warning. “Even if we succeed in taking Winterfell, Cersei will stop at nothing to murder you and me. The war doesn’t end with the Boltons.

 

The Boltons, the Lannisters, the army of the dead across the wall—they have enemies in so many places now. Jon remembers the innocent face of a child when he thinks of Tommen. “Was Tommen kind to you?”

 

“He was,” Sansa says. “But, it doesn’t matter. Cruel or kind, his family is still working against us.”

 

The Red Keep and the Iron Throne were both built by the Targaryen family. Robert Baratheon might have taken King’s Landing by right of conquest, but Tommen is not a true Baratheon. He’s still an innocent though, and the thought of waging a war to take back an iron chair makes Jon feel ill. If he were to take his family’s name, the Lannisters would naturally assume his intention would be to take back King’s Landing from them. To tell the truth may very well cause more death than if he were to go to his grave with Eddard Stark’s secret.

 

Jon tightens his fingers around Sansa’s as if he can somehow take all his stress away. Jon lets out an exasperated breath. If the truth is known, it could divide the Seven Kingdoms during a period of history that they need to band together. Another open war will give the Night King a clear shot at talking Westeros. There are so many choices he can make, and none of them feel safe enough to make.

 

Sansa reaches across the table with her freehand and takes it in her hand. “We’ll prepare for Tommen and Cersei when we take back Winterfell. Right now, we need to focus on Ramsay. I believe in you, Jon. I know that we can take back Winterfell... _together._ ”

 

Jon meets Sansa’s gaze and sees all the hope in the world in her Tully blue eyes. He gives her a nod of approval despite his own secrets and fears. He repeats the last word in a hushed whisper, “ _Together._ ”

  
  
  
  
  



	4. Sansa II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I really have to thank all of you for the response to this fic! I love reading all of your comments and it's really, really nice to see that there are so many people excited about this story. I assumed that writing for A Song of Ice of Fire was going to be a huge undertaking. So, I was initially hesitant on reposting this story, but I'm really, really glad I did. Thank you all so much!
> 
> I won't so much about the contents of this chapter, because I don't want to spoil anything. But, I will say that it's really nice to be rewatching season 6 at the moment. I'd forgotten a lot of the little moments that I really loved about my favorite season. Revisiting season 6 is just so refreshing after watching the disaster that was season 7.
> 
> Credit goes to Israfel00 for helping me out with this fic and also giving me ideas when I'm not exactly sure where to go next (and, also for being a kick ass fandom friend).

They need more men. Jon seems confident that House Reed will pledge themselves to House Stark and he also has the support of the Wildlings he saved. The Wildlings can be counted on, but Sansa is skeptical about House Reed. Regardless of how close Howland Reed was to her father in Robert’s Rebellion, Sansa is also aware that circumstances do change over time. She’ll believe House Reed is pledged behind House Stark when she sees it with her own two eyes.

 

No one can fully be trusted. Sansa should have learned this the moment the Lannisters played her like a fiddle upon her arrival in King’s Landing, but she continued to make the same mistakes time and again. The Tyrells come to mind. She should have never put any faith in them. They wanted her claim and offered her _hope_ to get it. There’s a fleck of anger that rises at the thought of Margaery and Olenna. They were kind to her at face value, but in the grand scheme of things, she knows they hardly care if she’s alive or dead. If anything, they’re both most likely reaping the rewards of the marriage alliance they managed to broker with the Lannister family.

 

Sansa is tired of being used. Cersei Lannister was the first to use Sansa’s own emotions as a weapon against her. Then, it was the Tyrells. Now, it’s Lord Baelish. And, there will be more men and women out there that will treat her as a pawn rather than treat her with the respect she’s wanted since her childhood. She can’t make the same mistake with Lord Baelish or anyone else ever again.

 

 _And, neither can Jon._ He’s new to the mind games that are played in King’s Landing. If Lord Baelish sees him as a threat to whatever his endgame goal may be, he will stop at nothing to remove Jon from his path. Sansa’s gloved hands tighten around the wooden railing of the upper deck. She looks down to see Jon next to Edd. All he really knows is Castle Black and what’s beyond the wall. This army of the dead he so often speaks of may be a threat, but he’s also unaware of how dangerous living people can be. Jon Snow was born a bastard, and thank the Gods for that. He may be able to win back the North, but Lord Baelish or anyone else with nefarious intentions will not see him as a strong contender to the Iron Throne.

 

Brienne of Tarth appears in the corner of her eye dressed in her heavy armor. Brienne rests one gloved hand on the railing as she follows Sansa’s gaze to Jon. “Jon Snow seems to be a good man. A bit brooding, but he seems trustworthy.”

 

“He is,” Sansa agrees. “He’s the first good man I’ve seen in awhile.”

 

Sansa turns away from the railing and retreats back inside the room she shares with Jon. She sits on the mattress of the bed and takes a half sewn fur cloak from her nightstand. Ghost’s front paws move forward in soft steps as he drags himself across the bed to nuzzle close to Sansa. Sansa retrieves her needle from where she left it stuck inside the cloak and begins to thread the heavy fur against a piece of long black cloth.

 

“You’re not safe here, my lady,” Brienne says.

 

“Jon is Jon,” Sansa reinforces. “He’s my brother. He’ll keep me safe.”

 

“Jon isn’t the one I’m worried about,” Brienne says. “It’s the rest of the men that congregate in this _place_. I swore a vow to your lady mother to keep you safe. I only want the best for you, Lady Sansa.”

 

Sansa pulls the thread through the heavy fur, trying to maintain her focus on the cloak she’s threading together. She understands Brienne’s concern. Castle Black isn’t a safe haven for her, but it’s the safest place she can be at the given time. Despite this, she isn’t exactly in any immediate danger. So long as Ghost is with her and she stays with Jon at night, she’ll be safe.

 

“Castle Black is the safest place I can be right now,” Sansa says. “We can’t leave just yet. Not until we have a stronger strategy.”

 

Sansa pushes her needle through the thick fur that further connects it to the piece of long black material. She pulls against the needle and threads the black cloth against the brownish fur. She pauses and stares down at her unfinished work. Sansa tries to envision how Jon might react when he sees the cloak she’s making for him. They were never close as children. She’s regretted that every day since King’s Landing. _But,_ that has changed now. The Gods have given them a second chance to bond in the way they never did as children.

 

Sansa can feel the floorboards shift beneath her feet. Ghost raises his head up from his paws and perks his ears back. Sansa’s eyes snap up to see Jon standing in the doorway. Brienne pivots, turning to face Jon. Sansa sticks her needle into the cloth to save her place and sets the cloak back on the nightstand. Her eyes catch a piece of rolled parchment in Jon’s hand. _For her?_

 

“It’s sealed with _Baelish’s_ House sigil,” Jon says Littlefinger’s name with disgust. They haven’t talked much about Petyr Baelish, but Sansa has told him enough that his disgust is not without reason.

 

Sansa glances to Brienne. She debates whether or not Lord Baelish’s note should be shared with her sworn knight. Lord Baelish is dangerous. Thus, Sansa decides that the contents of the letter must be known tokept from as few people as possible. There is caution in the way Brienne looks down on Sansa. Even Brienne is fully aware of how dangerous Petyr Baelish truly is.

 

“If you don’t mind, Brienne, I need to have a word with Jon,” Sansa says.

 

“As you wish, my lady.” Brienne bows her head, exits the room, and closes the door behind them to leave them their privacy.

 

Sansa remains completely still on the bed. There’s a way of dealing with Lord Baelish that neither Brienne nor Jon would ever commit to. Swords and violence are of no use against him, because he always has something up his sleeve. There’s always a better reason to keep him alive than to kill him outright, and he will make this reason known to save himself from the blade of a sword. _Chaos_ is the one word that comes to mind when she thinks of the way Lord Baelish operates. He doesn’t exactly follow a pattern and is completely unpredictable in the choices that he makes. It’s what makes him all the more dangerous.

 

Jon approaches her and sits next to her on the bed. He turns the rolled piece of parchment in his fingers until the seal of a mockingbird comes to view. Jon stares down at the parchment as if his eyes could incinerate it just by looking at it. He doesn’t hand it to her right away, but when he finally does, he cannot even bearare to make eye contact with her. Jon’s dark eyes just focus on the wall as if counting all the imperfections on the wood panelling across from him can rein back his temper.

 

Sansa takes the letter from Jon’s fingers and rests it on top of her lap. She stares down at the letter, knowing for certain that the contents of the letter are going to be unpleasant to look at. She breaks the seal slowly before unraveling the letter. She recognizes the handwriting instantly which further confirms that Lord Baelish wrote this letter in his own hand.

 

_Lady Sansa Stark,_

 

_It has come to my attention that you are seeking refuge in Castle Black with your half-brother, Jon Snow. I write to you, because I am not only concerned for your well being but also because there are matters you and I need to discuss in private. If you wish to see me, I will be awaiting your arrival at Moletown._

 

_-Lord Petyr Baelish_

 

Sansa’s hands tremble as she rests the open letter on her lap. Jon’s eyes are glaring at the letter. He lifts his hand in a gesture that suggests that he wishes to read it. Allowing him to read it will cause more harm than good. This Sansa already knows. _But,_ to deny him would also raise too many questions. So, she relents and hands him the piece of parchment.

 

The piercing glare on Jon’s face twists into a face of sheer rage. He crushes the letter in his fists and rises to his feet. The way he walks just a little too fast and the way his feet hit hard against the floor reinforces his anger. Jon stops at the fireplace and tosses the parchment into the fire. HIs eyes stare at the piece of parchment crinkling and curling in the open fire as it turns first to black and then to ash.

 

“I’m not going to let you near him,” Jon does not raise his voice but anger is still clear in his inflection. “Not after he arranged your to marriage to that _monster._ ”

 

Jon’s eyes glance back to her. He studies her face for a moment. What once was a look of anger turns to worry. He walks back over to her and sits next to her. “I don’t want him to hurt you ever again.”

 

“He won’t hurt me if I take Brienne with me,” Sansa suggest.

 

“ _No,_ ” Jon’s voice is commanding. “You’re not going. I won’t let him near you.”

 

“Brienne can protect me. Jon, if I ignore his letter, he won’t…” Sansa pauses, searching for the perfect word to describe Lord Baelish’s behavior, “ _...react_ well. He’s been playing these games for awhile and to ignore him would be worse than responding negatively to his request. I have to go.”

 

“No, you don’t,” Jon’s voice becomes steady, and before he even speaks the words, Sansa already knows what he intends to do. “ _I_ will meet him in Molestown and deal with him myself.”

 

“ _Jon…_ ” Sansa warns. “He’s dangerous. It’s hard to explain, but he has this way about him. He’s unpredictable. _Please Jon,_ I’ve already lost the rest of my family. I can’t lose you too.”

 

Ghost shifts on the bed. Sansa’s eyes flicker to Jon’s direwolf. He’s so quiet that she almost had forgotten he was in there with the both of them. Her fingers run through Ghost’s hair as she remembers how Robb had died. The people around her in King’s Landing had spoke of how the Freys stitched Greywind’s head on top of Robb’s body. A chill crawls up her spine. She doesn’t want to lose Jon like she had lost Robb.

 

“We need him,” Sansa finally says. “He’s Lord Protector of the Vale now. If no one else will fight for us, we might have to turn to him. If I could just speak with him…”

 

“ _No_ ,” Jon says. “I’m going. If I let you go to Molestown and he hurts you, the ghost of your father will never forgive me for it.”

 

Jon grabs Longclaw off of a side table and marches out of the room. He slams the door behind him before Sansa can even begin to try and stop him. _Your father…?_ So, he’s back to referencing to Eddard Stark as just her father again. It hurts her to hear him say it. The Night’s Watch asks those that join to let go of all titles and lands, but that doesn’t mean that Eddard Stark wasn’t the man that fathered him. _Your father…?_ Eddard Stark died at the High Sept of Baelor. Jon was not present to see it like she was, but surely he hasn’t forgotten how their father died.

 

The way her skin crawls in her own nervousness at the thought of what Lord Baelish can do to Jon forces her to rise to her feet. Sansa bolts to the door and pulls it open. She rushes toward the railing and curls her fingers around the wooden railing to see Jon mounted on top of a horse. When their eyes meet, Jon raises his hand in a simple wave to her and all Sansa can do is raise her hand to wave back.

 

_Be careful, Jon._

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #KillBillSirens


	5. Jon III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first, I really got to thank you all for all the wonderful comments and all the response that I’m getting for this fic. It really is overwhelming (in a good way). I went in not knowing what to expect, but all of you have been so wonderful. Thank you. I love hearing from you and I’ll always be sure to respond to each and every one of your comments.
> 
> A big, big thank you to my beta-reader israfel00 for looking over this for me so that this fic can be the best version of itself.

All he can feel is the cold wind tear across his cheek and all he can hear is the sound of his horse’s hooves slam against the ground. Jon can’t think straight. It’s as if his world has gone red and the one thought that persists is shoving Longclaw through Baelish’s gut. A part of him twists at the thought of it. He hasn’t been formally taught the history of Westeros as much as the Stark children were taught, but he knows enough about the brutality of the Targaryen House. Is he embracing the words of his house— _Fire & Blood? _ Jon fears he might be, but the thought of Baelish touching Sansa crosses his mind and he just can’t find it within to care.

 

Jon slows his horse and rides into the small town. His fingers tighten around the reins as his eyes narrow in search of Baelish. _If I were that snake,_ _where would I go?_ Jon asks himself this, and his question is answered when his eyes fall onto a brothel. Ros, the first woman he sees ever felt an attraction towards, comes to mind. He hardly remembers what she looks like anymore, but he remembers her red hair vividly. Jon could wonder what happened to her, but he hardly ever knew her and already knows that he’ll never get an answer. So, he pushes her into the back of his mind.

 

Jon slows his horse before the brothel and throws his leg over the left side to dismount. He ties the horse to a wooden pole and moves up a flight of wooden steps. He can tell from the wear on the awning and the way the wood paneling slips underneath his feet that the building is barely holding together. A realm at war has taken its toll on the smallfolk just as much as it has on the high houses. The difference is that the smallfolk don’t have a voice to speak of their grievances.

 

The door to the brothel is set open, the voices spilling out from inside. When Jon steps inside, a couple of girls are already latching onto him. He thinks of his black cloak and black clothing. They must think he is a crow looking for a quick escape. Jon dismisses them politely before his eyes scan the room. Sure enough, he finds Baelish sitting at a table.

 

Their eyes meet and Baelish leans back slightly as if he is surprised to see Jon. He regains his composure as if it’s nothing to him. Jon rests his hand on Longclaw and narrows his eyes at Baelish. Baelish doesn’t even flinch. His lips just curve upward in confidence as he looks to Jon with a certain glint in his eye.

 

Perhaps, Baelish missed the point when he placed his hand on top of Longclaw. Jon means to drive that point through his thick skull. He squares his shoulders and walks towards the table. He doesn’t sit down. He just stares at Baelish like a wolf staring down at a wounded doe. _Not a wolf_ , Jon reminds himself, _a dragon._ Because, he is not a Stark, and he will never be a Stark no matter how badly he wishes it were so.

 

“You know I could kill you right now in front of all these people,” Jon’s voice is low.

 

Baelish speaks calmly and smoothly as if he hadn’t heard a word Jon had just spoken. “Lady Sansa sent you in her place?”

 

“I don’t want you near her,” Jon says.

 

Baelish doesn’t even flinch. He remains seated and completely motionless when he looks to Jon. “She is doing well—your half-sister?”

 

The way he says _half-sister_ sounds like a thinly veiled threat. Jon’s fingers grasp tightly around Longclaw. “You above all people should know the answer to that. You do know who she was married off too.”

 

Baelish is still as a statue. His eyes stay fixed on Jon. Not even the slightest flicker of emotion comes over his features. There’s just that same sardonic half-smile. Jon glares as his grip only tightens around Longclaw. He’s a step away from drawing his blade of Valyrian steel and cutting his head clean off. Yet, he refrains from doing so, because Sansa’s warning rings in his mind like the bells of Winterfell when Rickon had been born.

 

“Why did you ask her to meet with you here?” Jon asks.

 

“It does not concern the Night’s Watch and is strictly between Lady Sansa and I,” Baelish replies with that same mocking smile upon her lips.

 

“I won’t have you near her again. So, if you have anything to say to her, you’re going to have to tell her through me.” Jon already knows how ineffective his ultimatum is. In all honesty, it’s more of Jon’s means to lay  down an unwritten agreement that Baelish will no longer be allowed near Sansa than anything.

 

Baelish leans back in his chair and tilts his gaze up to Jon. “ _Jon Snow—_ you really are a lot like your father.”

 

 _Or, so he would think._ Jon keeps his features even at the mention of Lord Eddard Stark. Sansa had said that Littlefinger is dangerous. It makes him wonder if this is some kind of test—that maybe Littlefinger knows more than he lets on. He keeps his features even and leans forward to leans his palm flat against the wooden table.

 

“What of him?” is all Jon can think to say.

 

There’s something that seems to dance behind Baelish’s eyes. “I loved Sansa’s mother with all my heart, Jon Snow. Since the moment I set eyes on her, she became my purpose. All my choices—everything decision that I made—was for Cat.”

 

“I find that hard to believe,” Jon snaps.

 

“Perhaps, but I only tell you the truth, Jon Snow,” Baelish replies. “I loved Cat dearly—perhaps even more so than your lord father.”

 

Jon scoffs at the very notion of it. He could almost laugh even. “You and I both know that isn’t true.”

 

“You sound so confident of that.” Baelish grins. “But, you are the living proof of his betrayal.”

 

Jon rises to his full height and straightens his shoulders. He keeps his gaze on Littlefinger, searching every movement in his feature as if they can reveal his intentions. Jon does not speak a word. He just watches in silence, waiting for Baelish to speak. _Does he know the truth?_ Jon cannot quite tell either way.

 

“Lady Sansa is so much like her mother, isn’t she? I love her just as dearly as I loved her mother.” The bait Littlefinger throws out would be obvious to anyone, but Jon cannot help but take the bait. He reaches across the small table and grabs Baelish by his hair. He slams his faces down on the table and holds him by the throat. It would be so satisfying just to kill him now. Jon can feel the blind, burning rage nearly consume him—that very same rage his family is known for. He’s two steps away from killing him until he notices the eyes of prostitutes and their patrons looking to him.

 

The damned coward chose to meet here for a reason, _to save his own sorry skin._ Jon tightens his grip around Baelish his hair and slams his face against the table one last time for good measure. “If you touch Sansa, I’ll be sure to kill you myself!”

 

It takes everything within him to remove his grasp on Littlefinger's hair. Baelish places both his palms on the table and sits up straight. His nose bleeds and a bruise seems to form underneath his bright eye. Jon likes his face better this way.

 

A smile curves and Baelish’s face in spite of it all. Jon can’t even stand to look at him anymore. He turns away from him and walks towards the door. He stops, placing one hand against the door frame. Jon turns back to look to Baelish. He’s standing with a devious smile on his face. Jon’s fingers clench in the doorframe. It takes all of his self-control not to march back over to him and thrust Longclaw through his heart. Jon forces his eyes forward and steps outside the door. One day, he’ll kill him, but not today.

 

* * *

 

 

The ride back to the Wall seems to pass by him in a blur as if time itself doesn’t even exist. All Jon could think of is Sansa. It’s getting so late now. She’ll likely be worried for him. He slows his horse when he reaches the front gate. Edd is standing dutifully.

 

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” Edd japes. “Did you run into some trouble?”

 

Jon dismounts from his horse. He smiles before saying, “No trouble, just a snake in the grass. Or, in the snow in this case.”

 

Edd grin before letting out a laugh. “It’s good to have you back.”

 

The doors open and Jon steps inside with Edd by his side. They walk side by side in silence until Edd finally asks, “So, you’re really leaving us?”

 

“Soon,” Jon answers. “We have to make more preparations, but my time here at the Wall will be coming to an end shortly.”

 

“I’ll miss having you around here,” Edd says.

 

“I won’t miss this place much,” Jon remarks. “But, there are people here that I will miss.”

 

Samwell Tarly comes to mind. Jon had hoped that Sam would return before he left the Wall with Sansa. He frowns. If they take Winterfell back, he hopes that maybe Sam will stop there before making his way back to the Wall.

 

Jon’s eyes flicker to his shared room with Sansa. He lays his hand on Edd’s shoulder briefly before walking up the wooden steps that lead to their room. Jon stops before their door and fetches the key ring around his belt. He unlocks the door, seeing Sansa’s head lift from her pillow as he enters the room.

 

Jon shuts the door behind him and goes to his bed. He goes to the end of the bed and sits in silence for a moment. He searches for comforting words to say to her and finally says, “Baelish won’t be bothering you anymore.”

 

The way she looks at him and then down at her fur blanket shows that she doesn’t quite believe Baelish will stay away from her. Deep down, Jon doesn’t believe it either.

 

“I worried that something had happened to you,” Sansa whispers.

 

Jon gazes at her and meets her eyes. He shifts closer to him carefully so that he doesn’t interrupt Ghost’s slumber. “I’ve fought many battles and seen far worse than Baelish. You have nothing to fear.”

 

Something changes in the way her eyes look up to him. “I wish that were true.”

 

“So long as I’m here with you, it will be,” Jon reassures her. “We should both get some sleep. It’s late now.”

 

Sansa lays back down onto the bed. Jon rises to his feet and takes the heavy fur blanket in his hands. He draws the blanket over Sansa’s shoulders. She’s looking up to him with her Tully blue eyes and he can still see all of her fear and all of her pain. Jon crouches down next to her and brushes a stray strand of her red hair away from her face.

 

It would have been easier just to get up and walk towards his makeshift bed on the floor, but instead, he leans forward and presses his lips against her forehead. Jon parts from her, his eyes lingering on her a moment longer. She truly is beautiful. It’s such a shame that so many men have chosen to treat her so poorly.

 

Jon’s eyes drop to wooden floor paneling. He rises to his feet and moves toward the bunch of fur blankets on the floor that makes up his bed. He lays on the floor and pulls a fur blanket over him. Jon’s eyes gaze into the fire for a moment. There’s a feeling he cannot quite understand that stirs within him whenever he’s around Sansa. He thinks that it might be his longing for belonging, _but no_ , it’s something else.

 

“Goodnight, Jon,” he hears Sansa call from her bed.

 

“Goodnight, Sansa.”

 


	6. Sansa III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Jonsas, how are you feeling! 8x01 has aired and our theories about Daenerys' path are spot on! Targbowl is rising! 
> 
> I had to update, because I'm very excited for the next episode. I love the Starks so much. Here's to hoping they all survive to the end. 
> 
> A big thanks to Israfel00 for all the work he's done to make this fic the best version of itself.

It is the day that they leave Castle Black. Sansa had suggested Bear Island to be the first location on their journey. No one disagreed. The Mormonts are their first and best chance at allies. They need to secure at least one strong alliance so that others will not be afraid to follow in the Mormonts' footsteps. Sansa is nervous. Before Jon and Brienne, she’s used to being met with hostility at best and deceptiveness at the worst. Baelish and Cersei come to mind. She should have learned not to trust the politicians of King’s Landing after she misjudged Cersei as a child. Why had she been so foolish to trust Baelish?

 

 _Because, it was the only choice._ A familiar sense of bitterness swells in her chest. Sansa had no choice but to leave King’s Landing with Baelish. It was either Baelish or execution. She could almost feel bad for leaving Tyrion, but she can’t find it in herself to feel too terrible about it. It was his family that murdered hers, and his allegiance to them made him culpable. A fleck of anger burns within her. _Tyrion made her a Lannister._ Sansa can taste the bitterness in her mouth at the very thought of it. Her father wanted to make her a match with someone brave, gentle, and strong. Why can’t she have that?

 

Sansa folds the finished product of Jon’s new cloak. She runs her hands over the furs and all of her anger seems to dissolve from her heart. With his black hair and dark eyes, he’ll look so much like his father once did. She hugs the folded cloak close to her and imagines how he might react. It will be so sweet to see him smile.

 

Sansa looks down at the wolf stitched into the blue velvet of her new dress. She remembers her youth. She had a small bit of pride at being a Stark, but she had always wanted to go South to live in King’s Landing. She saw herself sitting by her husband next to the Iron Throne. She doesn’t want any of it anymore. All that matters is getting her home back for Bran, Rickon, Jon, and even Arya if she’s still alive. Maybe she’ll even get a second chance to bond with Arya as she has with Jon. Sansa can only hope that may come to be.

 

She pats at the blue velvet covering her legs. “Ghost, to me. Jon waits for us.”

 

Ghost’s snow white ears perk up at Jon’s name. The way he moves is so nimble that when his paws touch the floor she doesn’t hear a sound. He’s so quiet much like Lady was. Sansa smiles. Lady was obedient and soft tempered. She misses her wolf so much. Sansa extends her hand and scratches the back of Ghost’s ears. She supposes that Ghost will have to make up for Cersei’s murder of Lady. It might just be Jon, her, and Ghost going into the future. Sansa hopes the rest of her family will join her too, but she’s learned not to hope for such things. It only makes it all the harder when they are taken from her.

 

Sansa exits the room with Ghost tailing close behind her. She moves down the wooden steps, holding Jon’s new cloak in both of her hands. When her feet leave the last step, she sees Jon approaching her with a smile. His eyes study her as if to take in every detail.

 

“New dress?” Jon smiles when his eyes catch the wolf.

 

“I made it myself, do you like it?” Sansa asks, a part of her is yearning for his approval.

 

“It’s….” Jon pauses, his eyes becoming slightly unfocused for a bit. “I like the wolf bit.”

 

“Good, because, I made this for you.” Sansa offers Jon the cloak. He takes it into his hands and studies it. She looks over his eyes, waiting to see some kind of reaction. The way he looks down on the cloak confuses her. His eyes become distant as he stares at the furs that must look familiar to him. “I made it like the one father used to wear, as near as I can remember.”

 

A sad smile sort of smile curves on his lips. When he looks into her eyes, it’s as if she can see the moment his heart broke at the mention of their father. “Thank you, Sansa.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Sansa replies.

 

“I’ve been meaning to speak with you,” Jon says.

 

“What about?” Sansa asks.

 

“In private,” Jon adds. “You’re the only one I can trust with this information.”

 

Sansa’s brow furrows at the notion. They walk back up the steps to their shared bedroom. Jon places the folded cloak underneath his left arm and opens the door. Silence passes between them. Sansa studies Jon’s face as he drops his old cloak to the floor and throws the new cloak around his shoulders. He fastens the cloak to himself. She lets a soft, shallow breath escape her as she looks to him. He looks so much like their father that it almost scares her.

 

“Lord Reed is to rendezvous with us at Bear Island, but it must be kept a secret between you and me,” Jon says. “I already burned the letter. You’re the only one that I can trust with this information, and I trust that you will not share it with anyone else.”

 

There is something more to this. That much Sansa knows. Jon knew this would work even before she mapped out the current state of affairs in the North for him. That and he was willing to risk sending someone across the Boltons' claimed lands to Greywater Watch because he was so _certain_ that an alliance would be made.

 

Sansa takes a step toward Jon. There’s a question in her mind that she’s trying to frame, but she cannot seem to ask it. A breath escapes her. She looks into his dark eyes, waiting for him to answer all her questions. The way he looks to her is so soft. It nearly breaks her heart when she tries to remember the last man that ever looked at her like that. Maybe no man ever truly has.

 

“The Mormonts aren’t exactly a safe bet,” Sansa says. “But, they haven’t yielded to Ramsay. So, Bear Island is the first place we can go to. Does House Reed mean to make an alliance with us?”

 

Jon turns away from her as his eyes cast out into the fire. He leans his hand against the fireplace mantel. “I can’t see why else he’d travel to Bear Island and risk angering Ramsay Bolton.”

 

“Jon,” Sansa pauses, swallowing nervously. “We don’t know if the Reeds are aligned with Ramsay. We might be walking into a trap.”

 

“We aren’t,” Jon is too quick to reply. “Howland Reed fought by the Starks in Robert’s Rebellion. Lord Reed was by... _our_ father’s side to bring Lyanna Stark home. Lord Reed is loyal to our family.”

 

“He _was_ ,” Sansa agrees to an extent. “But, alliances do change over time. No one knows where Lord Reed’s children are. It may be safe to assume Ramsay has them hostage just as he has our brother.”

 

“Lord Reed is our ally,” Jon says with absolute certainty. “Please, just trust me on this, Sansa.”

 

There is more to this. Sansa racks her brains for answers. The first person Jon asked her about was Howland Reed. Apparently, Jon immediately wrote to him after obtaining his name from her. There seems to be an obvious answer to this—something she’s clearly overlooking. Yet, the more she thinks about it, the more confusing it becomes.

 

Jon trusts her enough to tell her this private information that he’s only willing to share with her. Still, he’s keeping secrets from her. He’s not going to tell her what he’s hiding. That much is painfully clear to her. If he won’t tell her, then, whatever he’s hiding is dangerous. So, whatever it is, she’ll have to discover it before Baelish does. Her body chills at the very thought of Littlefinger. She’ll have to write to him and apologize to him on Jon’s behalf and repair her relations with him. _Keep his eyes off Jon_ , Sansa thinks to herself, _keep him distracted until Winterfell is won._

 

Jon removes his hand from the fireplace mantel and turns back to her. His eyes study hers and his gaze becomes so soft. There’s a part of her that feels a certain sense of shame, because she likes it so much when he looks at her that way. She’s not sure why it feels so wrong to her to want him to care about her. Maybe it’s the guilt Cersei instilled in her—the small belief that nags at her and tells her she doesn’t deserve to be loved by anyone. _Or maybe…_

 

Sansa lowers her eyes to the floor, trying to think of anything but finishing that thought. She blocks it out of her mind. _Winterfell_ —she must focus on Winterfell before anything else. Winterfell is integral to her family’s survival and the only way to protect the last Starks from the Lannisters. Sansa straightens her shoulders and lifts her gaze to Jon. Both of them are taking a huge risk at making a play for Winterfell, and if Jon has secrets of his own, that will only increase their risk.

 

 _He won’t tell her._ She’s accepted this even though it breaks her heart to pieces. But, he needs to know for certain that he can trust her with his life. Sansa takes a step towards him, her eyes looking directly into his. “We might not have spoken much as children, but _Jon_ , I want you to know that you can trust me.”

 

“I do trust you, Sansa,” Jon replies a little bit too quickly.

 

 _Then, why are you keeping secrets from me?_ Sansa bites her lower lip as her eyes fall to the floor. She strains her breath, resisting the urge to sigh out of frustration. She won’t push the issue and create a divide between before they leave Castle Black. They need to stay close if they want to take Winterfell back.

 

Sansa steps toward Jon. She takes both of his hands in hers and gazes into Jon’s eyes. “I’m so grateful for you, Jon. You’re all I have left of my family. Thank you for being so kind to me.”

 

Sansa’s eyes drop to his hands. She takes one hand into both of her hands. She smiles weakly before withdrawing from him and walking towards the door. She opens the door and stands in the doorframe with her back to Jon. She wants to look back at him, but she’s afraid of something— _something she feels._ Sansa breathes deeply. She’s not sure why her gratitude towards him makes her feel so uncomfortable, but it does.

 

Sansa looks over her shoulder to glance at Jon. “Ser Davos and Brienne are waiting for us.”

 

Jon gives her a brief nod. Sansa faces her eyes forward and steps out onto the upper deck. She looks at the falling snow. It reminds her of her first day in the Vale. The day she finally thought she won her freedom. Sansa frowns. She was never free—not truly. She will never be free until Winterfell is returned to her and her family.


	7. Jon IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it is confirmed over for those hoes. How y'all feeling? We can finally enjoy A Song of Ice & Fire in peace! Targ stans come in my comments. I fucking dare you so I can link you to the truth. 
> 
> Anyways, I'm celebrating by updating, and now that there is evidence that our luck is changing, I have the drive to update more frequently!

Traveling to Bear Island was uneventful but not without the stress that Jon had expected. There was the constant fear of being cornered by Bolton sympathizers. The fear extended farther than fear of his own mortality. It was the fear of what may become of Sansa if she were to be returned to Ramsay that gnawed at him that kept him in a constant state of panic. But, they are here now with their fears far behind them.

 

Jon eyes Melisandre from the corner of his eyes. She’ll bring him back. No matter how many times he dies, he will ask to be reborn so long as Sansa still needs him. Jon steals a glance at Sansa seated on her horse. Her eyes meet his before she smiles at him. There’s a part of him that swells with joy knowing that he’s the one that can make her smile.

 

Jon slows his horse and dismounts. He doesn’t even think when his feet hit the ground. He just goes to Sansa as if it’s the only thing he can do. He places both his hands around her waist and lifts her from her horse. It’s been like this between them since they’ve left Castle Black. He’s either lifting her into her horse or helping her dismount. In a way, he can almost say that he treats her like a Queen rather than just a lady.

 

Jon’s heart feels heavy at the thought. She had left Winterfell to become a Queen— _Joffrey’s Queen._ Joffrey never deserved her. Jon brushes the red hair from her eyes. He isn’t a King yet, but one day he might be. Jon looks into her Tully blue eyes. He feels as if he doesn’t deserve it. Sansa was the one that sought him out. She’s the one that pushed him forward. The North is her father’s seat of power. Perhaps she deserves it more than he does.

 

 _Sansa would make a great Queen_ , Jon finds himself thinking a thought he never would have imagined thinking in his youth. But, he isn’t Jon Snow anymore. He died the bastard of Lord Eddard Stark and was reborn the heir of Rhaegar Targaryen. He doesn’t know what to make of it all. The only thing he’s certain of is that Lord Eddard Stark will never watch his daughter be dishonored from the afterlife again.

 

Jon turns his gaze away from Sansa and looks upon the night sky. He had hoped they’d arrive at first light, but their journey had gone smoother than he had expected. At the very least, they will get some much-needed sleep before consulting with Lady Lyanna Mormont. Jon takes Sansa’s arm in his and leads her up to the Mormont Keep.

 

A man with brown hair peppered with specs of grey looks upon him. Jon’s eyes fall onto a lizard sigil stitched into his green cloak. A sharp feeling shoots through him as he looks upon Howland Reed.

 

“Jon Snow,” is all that Lord Reed says.

 

“Lord Reed,” Jon’s voice is almost breathless as he studies Howland Reed’s every movement. The way Lord Reed looks upon him, every stiff movement, the way they both stand too still for too long—it’s all enough to confirm that what he saw in death was true. There’s a relief to it all, because for some reason, he no longer wants to be the son of Eddard Stark. There’s this weight off his shoulders that he can’t quite understand.

 

“Lady Sansa,” Lord Reed looks to Sansa.

 

Sansa curtsies. “Lord Reed.”

 

Sansa’s eyes stay focused on them, forcing Jon to come back to reality. To her, she’s still Jon Snow—at least for now. The urge to tell her grows stronger the closer he gets to her. It’s as if there’s this barrier between her him that can only be broken once the truth is told. There’s something there—something he wants so badly. He feels as if he’s two steps away from something so great, but the weight of his secrets are keeping it from him.

 

Why does he suddenly need to tell her and why does is there a relief that Howland Reed’s appearance has confirmed the truth? Jon looks to Sansa. It’s as if his entire heart has shattered to pieces all at once. Jon bites his lower lip and grits his teeth. It would be so terrible to even think it if he had woke up without any memory of the afterlife. _But, he did remember._ Jon’s clenches his fists together nervously. It’s because of _her—_ she’s who he wants so badly.

 

Jon swallows the bile that has formed in his throat before saying, “There is no reason for us to stand here. Is Lady Mormont awake?”

 

“Lady Mormont has already taken to her chambers for the night,” Lord Reed replies. “You and Lady Sansa must be tired. Perhaps, it will be best to rest for tonight before a meeting with the Lady of this Keep.”

 

They could still wake Lady Mormont, but Jon decides against it. There are matters he wishes to discuss in private with Lord Reed before making any decisive choices. Jon turns to Sansa and places his hand on the side of her forearm. In her Tully blue eyes, he can see exhaustion. She needs to rest before they speak to the Lady of this Keep.

 

Jon turns back to Howland Reed. “Are Lady Sansa’s chambers prepared for her, my lord?

 

“Right this way,” Lord Reed replies.

 

Jon can only nod and follow. There’s an uncomfortable silence between the three of them. Sansa’s eyes are studying him as if she’s trying to decipher why Lord Reed decided to meet them. Her eyes catch him looking toward her. Jon’s eyes snap forward, looking directly to the back of Lord Reed’s head. 

  


They wind through hall after hall before Lord Reed stops in front of a door and opens it. “Lady Sansa, your room awaits you.”

 

Sansa steps inside and Jon follows. He closes the door to the room to give him and Sansa a bit of privacy. Sansa turns to him. Her eyes search his before she finally speaks, “Your intuition was correct. He’s traveled to meet with us. How were you so certain, Jon?”

 

“He fought by our father’s side,” Jon can taste the lie in his mouth, and he hates it. “He’ll fight for us.”

 

“That seems to be the case as far as I can see,” Sansa says. “It doesn’t seem that he would travel this far for nothing. Jon, there is something you’re not telling me. I know it. So, please just tell me.”

 

Jon pauses. When he looks into her eyes, he wants to tell her everything. He’s so close. _So, so close._ He just needs that push.

 

“If you don’t tell me, Baelish will find out first,” Sansa lets out a deep sigh. “ _If_ he hasn’t already figured it out. Jon, you and Reed know the truth. That’s why you invited him here. So, what exactly did our father tell you and why does it involve Lord Reed?”

 

“I’m not who you think I am,” his words feel heavy when they leave his mouth. “My name... _my real name_...is Jaehaerys Targaryen. Lyanna Stark is my mother. Rheagar Targaryen is my father. _Your_ father hid the truth from everyone even your mother, because Robert would have killed me even as an innocent newborn child."

 

Sansa looks up to him. He expects to see horror in her eyes. Her eyes drop to the floor. A soft breath escapes her and her lips almost turn into a full smile. Her lips press into a line and she looks up to him with a severe glance in her eyes. “You’re sure this is true?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You’re absolutely certain?” Sansa asks. “You would swear on your life?”

 

“Yes.”

 

A breath that sounds more like a sigh of relief than anything escapes her. “ _Jon_ , do you have any idea what this means? This changes everything. Tommen isn’t a Baratheon. The Lannisters don’t have a legitimate claim, but _you_ do.”

 

“I don’t want the throne,” Jon says. “There’s an army of the dead beyond the wall, and Ramsay still sits in Winterfell. I can’t just march into King’s Landing and tell Cersei to leave.”

 

“No, you can’t,” Sansa agrees. “Not yet anyway. Change takes time. Believe me. I set in your ancestors home for many moons while Cersei and Joffrey terrorized me. But, you will be better, Jon. You will do better than Robert or Joffrey.”

 

The thought of a crown upon his head feels so heavy. He wants to deny it—to set it all to the side. But, she looks up to him with this light in her eyes that he hasn’t seen since they were young.

 

“The cloak you made for me—"

 

“It’s still yours,” Sansa replies. “My father raised you as his son.”

 

“I’m not a Stark,” Jon says. “I will never be a Stark, Sansa. No matter how much you or I wish it to be so.”

 

“Your _mother_ was a Stark,” Sansa’s voice breaks when she speaks.

 

Jon steps towards her and takes her cheeks in both of his hands. He looks into her blue eyes and sees the world. Jon leans forward and presses a soft kiss on her forehead. It’s enough—the forehead kisses he's constantly giving her. Jon parts for from her, glancing at her lips as he breaks away from her.

 

Jon pivots to the door, but Sansa’s hand catches his wrist. He turns back to her, seeing this desperate sort of look in her eye. She needs him just as much as he needs her. His heart races, because it’s been so long since he’s taken that chance with someone. Jon draws her close to him and kisses her on the lips. His eyes close as this certain kind of peace comes over him. A familiar fire ignites within him. He deepens their kiss, tasting her lips before tasting her mouth. His heart seems to pound in his ears, and he’s almost completely lost.

 

Jon breaks away. He looks up into her eyes, searching them for _something._ His hand slides down her arms to her hands. They're shaking in his grasp. He’s afraid he might have startled her, but when he tries to pull away, her hands tighten around his.

 

“ _Please_ ,” a tear falls down her cheek. “ _Please, Jon._ Promise me you're telling the truth. _Promise me._ ”

 

“It’s the truth, Sansa,” Jon lifts one hand to brush the tear from her cheek. “I’m not your father’s bastard. He would have never dishonored your mother in such a way. You know the truth, Sansa. It’s been staring us in the face for years, but none of us ever thought about it much.”

 

Sansa leans forward and wraps her arms around him. She cries on his shoulder. Her arms tighten around his neck and all he can do is hold her. She always hides herself behind this wall to protect herself, but right now she’s that girl he used to know—so sweet and so vulnerable. She doesn’t even know it, but by dropping her walls, she’s shown him exactly what she truly feels.

 

Jon draws her closer to him. It makes it easier that she hardly spoke to him as a child. It makes _this_ feel more natural to him. Jon strokes the back of her hair with his gloved hand to comfort her. If he can’t find it in himself to fight for his claim, he can do it for her. He can protect her from the people that wish to harm her. To chase Ramsay out of Winterfell and go to war with the Lannisters—that would be enough for him to make a play for the Iron Throne. He could always keep her safe.

 

Jon shushes her. “It will all be different now, Sansa. No one will hurt you again.”

 


	8. Sansa IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So, I'm going to start off by discussing the latest episode. Skip past this note if you haven't seen it! ANYWAYS...Daenerys is the villain that we all predicted she was. No longer can they tell us that we're "assassinating" Daenerys character for our ship when we write her as the villain. She made me so angry in this episode from putting her people in danger by choosing not to give them rest, and also by demanding that Jon lie for the rest of his life about who he is just so she can sit her ass on the Iron Throne in his place.
> 
> I actually loved Sansa and Varys the most last episode. They seem to have the people's best interest in mind. I do not think that Sansa is power hungry by choosing Jon. She knows that Daenerys is an unstable and incompetent leader. This goes for Varys too. They are making the best choices for the people of Westeros by backing Jon. 
> 
> There are some things I didn't like. I wish they would have shown Arya and Sansa's reaction to Jon's parentage more. I felt like D&D really missed a heartfelt moment there. But, I'm really glad that Jonerys is pretty much over too. So, the episode wasn't a complete miss. 
> 
> Anyways, on to the chapter!

The steaming hot bath water seeps into her skin. It strings at first, but eventually Sansa adjusts to the temperature. It’s so nice to finally wash away the dirt from traveling. Sansa hugs herself and smiles. This morning is the first morning she’s awoken with a smile on her face since she left Winterfell to start her life in King’s Landing.

 

All these years, she's believed that no one could ever love her. Sansa’s fingers press into her flesh. It seems like a sweet dream, because she’s so used to being hurt by people. _But, Jon loves her._ Tears sting her eyes. _Tears of happiness._ Sansa wipes the tears away and laughs to herself. Someone in this world truly loves her— _someone that will never harm her._

 

Jaehaerys Targaryen, son of Prince Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark—it’s still so fresh in her mind that Sansa cannot fully believe it to be real. Jon is Jon. Jon will _always_ be Jon. A quiet laugh escapes her. It’s almost as if the Gods had planned this for her all along. The prince she always wanted was right in front of her all this time.

 

She lowers herself into the tub to wet her hair. She reaches for soap on the side table and runs it through her hair. Normally, a handmaiden would assist her, but Sansa needs this moment to herself. She needs that space where she can just bask in the small shred of happiness that has been gifted to her after years and years of heartache.

 

And, yet, it seems so strange to her. Sansa had always distanced herself from Jon as a child to protect her mother’s feelings. Her mother was wounded by a lie, but that lie needed to be told. It hurts to think how much her parents' marriage suffered, because Robert was cruel enough to kill a newborn child. Sansa can only wonder if Viserys and his sister still live across the Narrow Sea or if he had them killed.

 

Sansa sits up in the bathwater and finishes washing her skin with soap. She rises to her feet before stepping out of the bath. Water pools around her feet as she steps towards a mirror. A sharp feeling cuts through her as she looks upon the marks Ramsay Bolton left on her body. She tries to imagine Jon looking over them. Her eyes sting as tears threaten to form. Her shoulders slump forward as she wraps her arms around herself. Her eyes fall to the floor as reality rears its ugly head.

 

 _How is this supposed to work?_ Jon will eventually have to announce his true lineage if he wants to make a play for the Iron Throne. After that, they marry, but even so, she will have to provide him with an heir. She’ll have to let him get close to her. _She'll have to let him touch her._ Being that close to anyone, even with Jon, still frightens her. She's just so afraid to let _anyone_ that close. 

 

Sansa can hear the words of Septa Mordane in the throne room of the Red Keep. The words said so long ago seem so distant from her that she can hardly remember them now, but she remembers speaking of having children. Sansa was afraid to have girls, because Joffrey wouldn’t have wanted a girl. _But, Jon would._ She can let herself get close to Jon. Jon wouldn't hurt her.

 

It all raises the question: _is she really in love with Jon?_ The answer to that is so obvious. She is. _She knows she is._ It’s that uncomfortable feeling that’s lingered between them for so long now. He might have accepted it earlier, because knowing the truth allowed for it. But, Sansa could not bring herself to dare to think it, because Jon was her bastard half-brother until last night.

 

Sansa goes to her end table and takes a washcloth in her hand. She runs the cloth over her skin to dry herself. All she can think about is that thirteen-year-old girl from so long ago. Day after day, she’s asked herself over and over if life truly is worth living. Last night, when Jon kissed her was the first time she answered that question with a _yes_. Finally, after losing everything, she’s found the one person left that still truly loves her.

 

Sansa folds the washcloth and sets it on the table. Her hands shake as she looks down at them. Jon loves her. She loves Jon. She turns her hands around to look at her shaking palms. Ramsay’s laugh resonates in her mind. Sansa’s eyes snap shut. A part of her is afraid— _afraid to be loved_.

 

* * *

 

Sansa’s handmaiden finishes fixing the last braid in her hair before a soft knock resonates from the other side of her door. Sansa recognizes the rhythm of the knock. _Jon_. Sansa tries to fix the features of her face into a neutral expression. There are so much more important matters to intend to than her girlish feelings. She presses her lips into a line before she opens the door. Sansa’s eyes immediately lock with Jon’s dark eyes. Her eyes drop to the floor as a smile emerges on her lips. Even after everything, she’s still that girl she was before she left Winterfell.

 

“Lady Stark…”

 

The way his voice sounds so excited to see her is like a dream to her. Jon cares for her just as much as she cares for him. It’s _different._ She’s so used to disappointment that it’s so hard for her to believe that a man could truly love her.

 

Sansa’s smile widens as she looks back up to Jon. “I’m not the Lady of Winterfell just yet, Jon.”

 

“But, you will be,” Jon replies. “So, I might as well get used to saying it now.”

 

Jon offers Sansa his arm. She thinks that maybe she accepted it too eagerly and too quickly, but when Jon’s arm tightens around her, she can’t seem to think about it too much. Jon was never raised as a lord. He hasn’t lived the lives of royalty. He may be the lost Targaryen Prince, but he’s still as humble as he was when he believed himself to be a lowborn bastard.

 

Jon leads her down the hallway and makes a right. He stops before a pair of doors already set open. Jon releases her arm and pivots to look her directly in the eye. He takes both her hands in his and says, “Before we meet Lady Mormont, we need to hear what Lord Reed has to say. I asked him here to meet with us for this reason.”

 

Sansa nods. She keeps her voice low and her words vague. “It is just us three that know?”

 

“Yes,” Jon says. “As far as I know.”

 

Both of them face forward and stand side by side before stepping inside the room. Sansa steps forward to see Howland Reed looking out a window with both hands behind his back. When Jon shuts the doors, Howland Reed turns to face the both of them.

 

“Lord Reed,” Jon is the first to address him.

 

“Jon Snow,” he looks to Jon before his eyes fall onto Sansa. “And, Lady Sansa Stark. I admit that I never expected this day to come.”

 

 _It is true, then?_ Sansa can’t even stop the sigh of relief that escapes her and the smile that follows. The fear that maybe Jon had believed a lie and that she might actually be in love with her half-brother dissolves from her instantly.

 

“Your father told you, Lady Sansa?” Lord Reed assumes just by studying her face.

 

“No,” Sansa says. “I went to the wall to seek refuge after escaping the Boltons. I did not know the truth until last night.”

 

Lord Reed’s eyes fall to Jon. “Then, Ned told you the truth before you went to wall?”

 

Jon is quiet as if he’s caught in his own thoughts. He looks to Sansa with this look in his eyes. There’s something more to this. She can sense it.

 

Jon turns his gaze to Lord Reed. “I died.”

 

Sansa pivots and looks to Jon. This was not the answer she was suspecting.

 

“I was murdered by my men,” Jon continues. “Stannis Baratheon had brought this red priestess to the wall with him. _I died_ and what I saw I will never forget. Melisandre of Asshai was the red priestess that brought me back. I didn’t fully believe it— _not truly_ —until I saw you last night.”

 

“What you saw in death was the truth,” Lord Reed pauses, his eyes falling on Sansa. “Lady Sansa, your father did not defeat Arthur Dayne in combat. Your father was fighting a losing battle until I stabbed Arthur Dayne in the neck when his back was turned. When he climbed the steps to the tower, I expected him to return with his sister but he returned with a newborn baby boy in his arms instead. He named the boy _Jon_ and said that the boy would live as his bastard. This secret I have kept since that day— _until now_.”

 

“So, we tell Lady Mormont the truth,” Jon says. “We take Winterfell and I make my claim.”

 

It all seems so sweet— _so perfect_. That is until Sansa remembers Littlefinger and the Vale. He won’t help them if Jon’s claim is so undisputed. It’s all too clear what Littlefinger’s motivation is, and that is to sit on the Iron Throne.

 

“ _No_ ,” Sansa says almost too abruptly. “Not yet. We need Winterfell back or our enemies will stop at nothing to kill Jon. Tommen is a Lannister bastard born of incest, making Jon’s claim stronger than anyone’s in the realm. There are other people in the kingdom that are bound to be eying the throne for themselves once Cersei’s games come to an end. We don’t want these people taking up arms against us. We need the North before we can make a play for King’s Landing.”

 

“Then, you meet Lady Mormont today as Lady Sansa Stark and Jon Snow,” Lord Reed says. "My House will back your play for Winterfell. It will _hopefully_ be enough to convince her to join our cause."

 

Jon’s eyes meet Sansa’s as if he’s asking for her final opinion. Sansa breathes and says, “It feels deceptive to lie to so many people, _but_ my father lied for years with good reason. Both you and Jon will have to be the ones to tell the North when we take back Winterfell. We cannot appear as if we conspired this together. It will sew too much distrust in the realm. If only there was written proof— _something_ not even Cersei could dispute…”

 

“We have Lord Reed as a witness,” Jon replies.

 

“It will be enough for the North, but the other Great Houses might not be so easily convinced,” Sansa says.

 

“Right now, we need to keep our focus on one objective at a time,” Lord Reed says. “Taking Winterfell should be our primary focus. The rest will come later. Now, we mustn’t keep Lady Lyanna Mormont waiting any longer. Take all the time to discuss what you plan to say to her here, and I will meet you in her solar with Ser Davos.”

 

Jon waits for the doors to click shut before he turns back to Sansa. He lets out a heavy breath and brings his fingers to his temples.

 

“We might need to start thinking about marriage alliances,” Sansa keeps her tone steady even though it hurts to say those words.

 

“I’ve thought about it,” Jon turns to her, his dark eyes pining hers. “I thought about it all night. I’ve made my decision.”

 

She already knows what he means to say, but she needs to hear it. Jon steps forward and places his hands on her cheeks.

 

“I don’t care what kind of armies marrying some southern lord’s daughter will provide me,” Jon pauses. He leans down and kisses her forehead. “My choice will not be swayed. I will find another way to make allies."

 

Jon parts from her and walks to the doors. He opens the door to her left and gestures her outside. Jon takes her arm in his almost immediately and leads her through the Mormont Keep. _This is foolish_. Sansa knows that both of them need to be smarter than this. Marriage alliances outside of themselves could be crucial to taking down Cersei. _But,_ she wants this just as much as he does. If they can secure House Tully and the Vale, it will be enough.

 

That is where Littlefinger comes into play. He won’t accept Jaehaerys III Targaryen as King especially with her as his Queen. He needs to be removed as Lord Protector of the Vale. Sansa’s arm tightens around Jon's as her mind works through several plans. Sansa settles on a solution. She will need for Baelish to believe that she is uncertain of Jon’s leadership, and that she has more faith in him than she does Jon. If she can get Littlefinger to believe that she still trusts him, she can lure him out of the Vale. Jon will disapprove. Sansa hates that she will have go behind his back to resecure the Stark-Arryn alliance, but it must be done before they even try to siege Winterfell.

 

Jon leds Sansa inside Lyanna Mormont’s solar. He releases his hold on her and stands side by side with her. Lord Reed stands to Jon’s left and Ser Davos stands to Sansa’s right. The two of them directly face Lady Mormont’s desk. Sansa’s eyes fall upon a young girl with dark hair. Her lips are pressed together in a thin line and her eyes are hardened.

 

“Welcome to Bear Island,” Lyanna Mormont’s tone is hard and clipped.

 

“I remember when you were born. You were named after _Lyanna Stark_ ,” Jon’s voice cracks at his mother's name. He breathes deeply and continues, “They say she was a great beauty. I’m sure you will be too when you come of age.”

 

“I doubt it,” Lyanna’s voice is rash as she brushes off Jon’s words. “My mother wasn’t a great beauty or any other kind of beauty. She was a great warrior though. She died fighting for your half-brother Robb.”

 

Sansa and Jon look to each other. This wasn’t at all what they expected from a girl so young.

 

Jon turns back to Lyanna Mormont. “I served under your uncle at Castle Black, Lady Lyanna. He was a great warrior and an honorable man. I—”

 

“I think we’ve had enough small talk,” Lady Mormont interrupts. “Why are you here?”

 

“We need your help,” Sansa says. “House Stark and House Mormont have been allies for centuries. We have the backing of House Reed and we need the backing of House Mormont to move forward against the Boltons.”

 

“As far as I know, you are a Bolton,” Lady Mormont’s voice is colder than Sansa would have ever expected from a girl her age. “Or are you a Lannister? I’ve heard conflicting reports.”

 

“How old are you, Lady Mormont?” Jon’s voice hardens as his eyes narrow to Lady Mormont.

 

“Why does it matter?” she answers.

 

“Because, one day you will come of age and you will be asked to marry,” Jon states. “If you do not take arms up against the Boltons now, one day your house will likely yield to the Boltons who will likely yield to Tommen Baratheon. Ramsay Bolton will be declared Warden of the North, and he will marry you off to whomever he pleases."

 

“I can refuse!” Lady Mormont rises from behind the table.

 

“Can you?” Jon answers. “I suppose you could, but it would mean your death and the death of your house. Do you know how Ramsay Bolton kills the men and women that rise against him? He’s not going to let you sip poison and drift to sleep. I can tell you that much. Rickon Stark is being held prisoner by Ramsay Bolton. You can back his rightful claim to Winterfell or you can refuse. I do not have the men to take Bear Island in his name nor would I choose to do so if I did. But, Ramsay eventually will take this Keep by force. He will march on this Keep, and when he does, he will make you and everyone else that stood by you suffer for refusing him.”

 

There’s a deathlike silence that fills the room. Not even the faintest sound can be heard over the ominous silence that hangs over them. Lady Mormont slowly sits down in her chair and says, “House Mormont has kept faith with House Stark for a thousand years. We won’t break faith today.”

 

Sansa looks to Jon and smiles with approval. He's not too bad at this. There might be hope for them yet.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hated how the show had Lyanna Mormont shame Sansa for marriages she had no power over. So, I had Jon lay into her here for it at the end with some common sense.


	9. Jon V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect to get this out this soon, but the inspiration came to me today. And, whoa, I can't believe 500+ people have dropped kudos so far. Thank you all. The response to this is amazing!

House Reed, House Mormont, House Mazin, House Hornwood, and the Wildlings—those are the forces that have pledged to fight for House Stark. They’re fighting for Jon Snow, not for Jaehaerys III Targaryen. It’s a blatant lie, and he fears how they will react when the truth is told. There will only be one solution. He will have to marry a Stark. The solution to his dilemma is the easy part. Jon is more than willing to marry Sansa Stark. It’s what he wants more than anything else. The hard part is managing to take Winterfell from Ramsay.

 

Jon walks through camp. Davos sits near a campfire with a large book in his lap. He’s whispering the words to himself as he flips over the last page. Davos closes the book and lets it rest on his lap. Jon steps toward him and sits on the other end of the log.

 

“Reading anything interesting, Ser Davos?” Jon says for the sake of conversation.

 

“Yes, actually,” Davos says. “It’s about the Dance of the Dragons. It’s the last thing I saw Princess Shireen read before she died. She loved to read.”

 

Jon glances at the book. He has some knowledge of the histories of the Great Houses. Jon tries to remember as much as he can about the Dance of the Dragons, but the details are vague at best.

 

“If you’re finished, I’d like to read it,” Jon says.

 

“I don’t see why not,” Davos says before offering the leather bound book to him.

 

Jon takes the book in hand. He brushes flakes of snow off the cover and looks down on it. He should make an effort to at least know more about his family before taking on the Targaryen name.

 

“I’ll be sure to return it to you when I’m finished,” Jon says.

 

“No, you take it,” Ser Davos replies. “Depending on how this upcoming battle is decided, you may very well be King in the North.”

 

“Winterfell doesn’t belong to me. I’m not a Stark,” Jon states. “It belongs to Rickon so long as he is alive. I will never be Warden of the North or King in the North so long as a Stark lives.”

 

Jon glances to Sansa who is walking side by side with Lord Reed as Ghost trails behind her. Jon rises to his feet. He carries the book with his left arm and rises to his feet. His feet crunch against the snow as he moves towards him. Jon can see a look of worry in her eyes.

 

“Jon...” Sansa glances to him.

 

“Sansa...” Jon meets her gaze.

 

Both of the glance to each other for a moment too long. Jon reminds himself that he’s still her half-brother to the rest of the world and darts his eyes down to Ghost. Ghost is sniffing at Sansa’s gloved hand before he moves his head underneath her palm as if to force her to pet him. Jon cannot help but smile when Sansa scratches Ghost’s ear with her fingers.

 

Sansa’s eyes become serious as she glances off to a group of their combined forces. “It won’t be enough. We need more men.”

 

“I’ve done the best I can,” Jon's jaw tightens as he tries to find a way to reassure her, but he can’t make promises when their situation looks so bleak. “We’ll have to make do with what we have.”

 

“ _Jon_ ,” Sansa’s voice rises as she straightens her shoulders. “Ramsay has more men than we do. He has the advantage of Winterfell. _We need more men._ ”

 

“I know,” Jon agrees. “But, we don’t have time. Rickon is on borrowed time. We need to make a play before Ramsay decides to murder him.”

 

“Rickon is the heir,” Lord Reed states. “Sansa is still bound to Ramsay. You, as far as he knows, are a bastard. He’s not going to let us have Rickon back no matter how we choose to direct our forces against him. We should wait.”

 

Jon sucks in a deep breath and grits his teeth. Is this really the console he is receiving from his closest ally? It takes him everything not to shout when he speaks. “Rickon is family. We were raised as brothers. I can’t just let him die.”

 

“ _Jon_ ,” Sansa interjects. “Lord Reed is right. I want Rickon back, but Ramsay's not going to give him up. He’s the strongest threat to his claim.”

 

“ _I’m_ the strongest threat to his claim,” Jon hisses in a whisper.

 

Lord Reed glances around him before he turns back to look to Jon and whispers, “He doesn’t know that yet. We are the only three that do. If you want to keep it a secret, be careful what you say when there are people around you.”

 

“So, what do you expect me to do? Wait for Rickon to die?” Jon asks. “I cannot allow myself to be idle when his life is in my hands.”

 

“Your mother died despite our efforts to save her,” Lord Reed whispers. He pauses and looks into Jon’s eyes before speaking normally. “We might be able to save him or he might die. We can do the best we can now, but the outcome may be out of our hands. Jon... _wait._ There is still one last play that Lady Sansa can make.”

 

Jon looks to Sansa, waiting for an explanation. She releases a deep breath into the air before she speaks. “Littlefinger has agreed to help us.”

 

“You spoke to him?” A sharp feeling cuts through him. “Sansa, he’s the reason you married that monster!”

 

“I know that!” Sansa whispers. “But, we can’t do this by ourselves. We need his help, Jon.”

 

“Quiet, both of you!” Lord Reed hisses a quiet warning. “The fewer people that know of Lord Baelish’s involvement the better. The moment Ramsay catches word of the Vale is the moment Winterfell is lost to us.”

 

Jon looks to Sansa. She’s been communicating with Littlefinger without his knowledge. His anger settles. She’s doing what she thinks she has to do to keep him alive. It isn’t as if she’s conspiring against him. The fleck of anger dissolved within him. The way they work with one another needs to change. They need to be honest and open with one each other.

 

“We have to trust each other,” Jon’s voice is calm when he speaks. His eyes fall onto Sansa. “We can’t fight a war amongst ourselves. We have so many enemies now.”

 

Sansa looks down. “I’m sorry. I should have told you. Please forgive me.”

 

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Jon glances down on her. When he looks into her blue eyes, he knows he's not truly angry with her. “You did what you thought you had to do to protect both Rickon and me.”

 

Jon takes Sansa’s arm in his so that they can speak alone. Lord Reed’s eyes lock with his. 

 

“Jon,” his voice is full of warning. “Don’t let your pride get to your head. It was your father’s greatest mistake and your grandfather’s most destructive flaw.”

 

Lord Reed pivots away from him and leaves him with Sansa. Jon glances to Ghost and then to Sansa. His anger and frustration are now far from him. Sansa tightens her arm around his, and for a moment, he’s just _Jon._ Even with a heavy book of his family history held in his left hand, he still cannot connect with his true lineage. He still feels so much like Ned Stark’s son.

 

Jon directs them back to their shared tent. He releases Sansa’s arm and pulls the flap open for her. Once Sansa is inside Jon follows. He goes to the table and drops his book on top of it. Jon releases a heavy sigh into the air. He lays his hands on the table with his back facing Sansa.

 

“I’m not angry,” Jon says. “I’m just worried. You told me everything you know about Littlefinger. I fear what he may do to you. He has an obsession with your mother, and I fear that obsession has been transferred to you. You look so much like her…”

 

Jon cannot bear to look at her, because in Sansa he sees Catelyn Stark. The same shade of blue eyes used to look at him with such contempt, but when Sansa looks at him, it’s exactly the opposite. Jon thinks of Ygritte’s red hair that was just a shade brighter than Sansa’s. He thinks of Ros, the prostitute who almost took his virginity, but Jon had stopped out of fear of fathering a bastard. Maybe it was the approval he’s always wanted from Lady Catelyn Stark that has him so drawn to red hair.

 

“Jon…” Sansa’s voice is so light and almost fragile.

 

Jon turns and glances over his shoulder so he can look upon her. He wants to draw her into his arms and kiss her. He wants to lift her into his arms and carry her over to his cot. He wants to do unspeakable things to her. But, he can’t—not until his lineage is no longer a secret shared between three people. Jon puts his weight on his right leg and pivots back to her so that they are face to face.

 

“I don’t want Littlefinger near you,” Jon says. “I don’t want to see him looking at you or so much as saying one word to you.”

 

“I know,” Sansa whispers. “I wish there was another way, but we cannot win without the Vale.”

 

“And, once he’s done helping us? What then?” Jon raises his voice as he thinks of Petyr Baelish’s snakelike presence. “Do we just let him prance around Winterfell as if he never sold you to Ramsay?”

 

Sansa’s eyes flicker up to him. “When we take Winterfell, you will announce your claim and you decide what happens. But, you can’t just kill him. You have to state your case of execution to the Northern Lords and to the Lords of the Vale. There has to be some semblance of justice. We can’t just cut off the heads of people we don’t like or we become just as terrible as the Lannisters. Jon...you’re grandfather burned Rickard Stark in his armor. He’s not the only one from your family that has fallen to excessive cruelty. When you remove Petyr Baelish from power, you have to provide a reason.”

 

“Sansa, you know I would never…”

 

“I know you wouldn’t,” Sansa interrupts. “You’re the furthest thing from Aerys. But, it might be tempting to hurt people that have hurt the ones you care about. You could justify it. I could justify it. We both know what Littlefinger did. But, the Northern Lords might not look past it. We have to be careful, because Cersei or anyone else that sees you as a threat can twist the things you do into stories of Targaryen Madness.”

 

Jon looks upon Sansa. His eyes fall from her red hair to her blue eyes. If he truly has lost his senses, it’s because he’s so lost in her. There’s this part of him that can’t explain how he got here. He left Winterfell mostly unattached to the girl in front of him, and now here he is completely in love with her.

 

Jon steps towards her and draws her into his embrace. He presses his lips to hers. It’s as if a fire has ignited inside him when she returns his kiss. Her arms wrap around his neck to draw him closer. They could so easily lose themselves like this. _Not yet._ Jon parts from her. He studies every little movement she makes from the way her eyes glance to him and the way her lips part into a soft gasp.

 

“Maybe I have gone mad,” Jon whispers.

 

“Then, I must be mad too,” Sansa replies.

 

Jon’s lips are inches away from hers. He could so easily lose himself in this very moment. But, he won’t, because he won’t risk shaming her. He won’t have her reputation tarnished forever. He cannot be with her until he takes on his family name. The world knows him as Ned Stark’s bastard. So long as the truth of his true name is concealed, he can never be with her.

 

Jon releases his hold on her. He walks back towards the table. His eyes fall onto the leather bound book Davos had given him. He is nothing like Aerys. Jon already knows this. Jon opens to the first page. The first line sticks out to him: _Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a Targaryen is born the Gods toss a coin into the air and the whole world holds their breath._

 

Jon stares down at the open book. It might be for the best that he’s the last of his family.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The foreshadowing at the end is also the same foreshadowing they gave us intellectuals in the show canon. I, for one, firmly believe that the Dance of the Dragons was referenced in season five to foreshadow what would become of Daenerys. I'm still completely floored that I saw this coming with Daenerys since season four and now my fan theory of a villainous Daenerys is true. I've been in the Dark Dany camp since before I even thought one way or another about Jonsa.


	10. Sansa V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Game of Thrones has been over for over a week now. I made a point to wait for the fandom to simmer a bit before updating, but before we move forward let's look a the clowns that were in my comments when I first started this!
> 
> By Guesty: "Is it too hard for jonsa fans to write a fanfic without making Dany the villain?"
> 
> It's not that I had to make her the villain. It's just that even before the finale I knew she was. You are a whole CLOWN.
> 
> Let's take a look at Wolf's comment on Chapter 6:
> 
> ">Targbowl
> 
> Lol, Frikidoctor's spoilers have nixed that."
> 
> And yet Jon killed Dany. Opps.
> 
> Aegon Starkgaryen in Chapter 6: "ahahaahhaahaha this is not credible, not even for you, daenerys is not a villain, she and jon are the princes that were promised, the protagonists and heroes of the story, she did not threaten to sansa just wanted to be more respected, she tried to be friend of sasna but sansa became obsessed with the crown of the north. It is already known that Jon loves her and she loves Jon, and although your daisy villain is impossible because there are 4 chapters and will have 2 battles with the night king, also this Cersei, Euron and the gold company, besides the possible treason of tyrion or varys, it is impossible and you know it, you know that jonsa has never existed and that is why you are hurt.
> 
> I'm going to cry because I know that the end will surely not be happy, because Jon and Dany will sacrifice themselves for the people, and because it is the end of my favorite fiction work. because I'm a fan of got. you just from jonsa, I guess it's because of sophie turner, sansa is hateful ahahaa"
> 
> None of this even happened. CLOWN. Your fave is a mass murderer. That's canon now and you can die mad about it.
> 
> Anyways, I'm done arguing with these people on this now and will be deleting comments. I have nothing to prove anymore. The show has already done that for me.

They have to be careful—her and Jon. The odds are swinging in their favor, but Ramsay Bolton is chaotic by nature. Ramsay’s first play in their upcoming battle will be something cruel. He's insidious in that way. He’ll exploit any sliver of compassion and loyalty that they have. Sansa shivers when she thinks of Rickon. Is he truly lost to them now? Her skin crawls as she thinks of her youngest brother in Ramsay’s dungeon.

 

Sansa walks through the snow almost aimlessly. Since their first kiss, thinking of Jon has been her first thought whenever her fears start to gnaw at her mind. When her nightmares terrorize her sleep, he’s always right by her side. Jon is the rock that holds her up at her weakest hour. Yet, thinking of him does not pull her from her fears this time, because Jon’s life is at stake and Rickon’s life hangs in the balance. Tomorrow her freedom lies in Jon’s hands. If he wins, he takes Winterfell back and makes his claim. If he dies, she’s returned to Ramsay. Sansa does not want to think of the horrors that await her in Winterfell if she’s returned to her husband.

 

Sansa stops before a pit of fire. Her eyes fixate on the flames licking at the cold air around them. _Fire & Blood_—that is the Targaryen House words, and yet, Jon won’t take Winterfell ruthlessly. He won’t set fire to his home and watch it burn like so many of his ancestors would. Jon is Jon. Jon will _always_ be Jon to her even if the rest of the Seven Kingdoms call him Jaehaerys.

 

Ghost nuzzles his head at her hand as if to force her to pet him. She runs her hand over the top of his head before giving it a soft pat. She’s used to these little moments where Ghost sneaks up on her. He’s so quiet that it’s impossible to sense when he’s sneaking behind her. Sansa smiles as she scratches at his ear. She envisions sitting at the Lord’s Table with Ghost laying between her and Jon. She has a vision, something she thought she’d never hope for again. She can see it so clearly in her mind—Jon on the Iron Throne with her by his side and Ghost at her feet.

 

Sansa mentally scolds herself. She shouldn’t dream something so selfish. Her time in the south should have taught her not to want it. Sansa straightens her shoulders as she stares down at the fire. Has she not learned from years of suffering? It would be selfish to even revive that stupid dream she had.

 

Every muscle in her body becomes stiff when Jon steps near her. It gets harder and harder each day to live the lie her father had started. Sansa doesn’t want to masquerade as half-siblings anymore. She wants to be able to be close to him without having to hide how she feels. Sansa would like to believe that she has contained her emotions, but she’s falling so hard so fast. Her gloved hands brush against his. Jon takes her hand in his. She relaxes and interlaces her fingers in his as her eyes still stay fixed on the fire.

 

“It will be over tomorrow,” Jon says. “He will never hurt you again.”

 

“You sound so certain,” Sansa says. “What if you lose?”

 

“Have you no faith in me?” It’s as if her words have wounded him.

 

Her hands tighten around his. “You know I do. I just don’t want to lose you. I’ve already lost so much. Father, Robb, _mother_ …”

 

Sansa’s hand clings to Jon at the mention of her mother. Her mother was her world when she was a child. They say her throat was slit right after she saw Robb die. For that to be the last thing she ever saw...? Sansa shivers at the thought. The world is so cruel, but _maybe just maybe_ , Jon can make the world better for everyone. Sansa does have faith in him. She has more faith in him than anyone.

 

“I have to ride to meet with Ramsay,” Jon says. “If I can convince him to leave—”

 

“You can’t convince him to leave.” Sansa’s hand tightens around Jon’s. “You cannot reason with him, Jon.”

 

“I know,” Jon says. “But, I have to at least look like I’ve tried. I can’t look _mad_ , remember?”

 

“You won’t look _mad_ , Jon,” Sansa says. “This is Ramsay Bolton. People know what he’s like. You don’t owe him any chances.”

 

“I still have to go.” Jon’s voice hardens. “The people have to see that I tried in every possible way to reason with him before resorting to violence. The North has to learn to trust me or none of this will work. The North remembers Ned, Robb, and Catelyn. They also remember Brandon and Rickard. They won’t be so trusting unless I give them a reason to trust me.”

 

“I will go with you,” Sansa insists.

 

Jon’s hand loosens a tad when he turns to face her. His dark eyes study her face. He shakes his head. “ _No._ I don’t want him near you.”

 

“Jon, I can just hide behind you forever.” Sansa pins her gaze on his dark eyes. “You can’t be the one to always fight my battles for me.”

 

“I don’t think I can stand to see him look at you.” Jon’s voice cracks slightly, revealing that sliver of fear he cannot seem to hide from her.

 

“I am riding with you.” Sansa’s hand slips from his grasp. She raises her hand to brush his hair from his face, a gesture he often does to her when she’s upset. Her hand rests on his cheek for a moment too long before her hand rests once again by her side.

 

It takes everything for her to step away from him—to leave him by the pit of fire—but she does because she must. He will argue with her until the sun falls from the sky to stay. He wants to protect her from the world, but she knows that he can’t. No one can truly protect someone forever no matter how hard they try.

 

Sansa steps inside her and Jon’s shared tent. There’s a flapping sound that follows her. She turns, expecting to see Jon. A gasp escapes her when she sees Howland Reed in front of her.

 

“You two are terrible at keeping secrets,” he says.

 

“Are we?” Sansa asks. “You only presumes as such because you already know our secret, Lord Reed. No one else is privy to that information.”

 

“I watched both of you.” Lord Reed’s voice is stern. “There’s _something_ between the both of you. I can see it and soon your enemies will see it.”

 

“Jon isn’t my half-brother,” Sansa replies. “It won’t matter for much longer.”

 

“It matters,” Lord Reed warns. “You need it to matter until the truth is known to the public. The things people could speak could destroy you. You don’t want people to compare you to the Lannisters.”

 

Her marriage to Tyrion flashes in her mind. She was a _child_ then, and they had humiliated her by having her marry a grown man. It takes everything to keep her voice controlled. “I am nothing like a Lannister. I will not be compared to one by you or anyone else. _I am a Stark_ , Lord Reed. I have always been a Stark, not a Bolton or a Lannister. I was forced to take both of those names.”

 

Lord Reed’s eyes soften. “My apologies, Lady Sansa. My intentions weren’t to insult you.”

 

Sansa’s anger simmers. “You want to give me counsel. I understand that, and you’re right. Jon and I need to be more secretive. It’s easier for me, but Jon...he tends to wear his heart on his cloak.”

 

“It’s dangerous to reveal your heart to the world,” Lord Reed says.

 

“I know that... _more than anyone_ ,” Sansa catches herself as her emotions threaten to spill. “But Jon was not forced to live with Joffrey or Cersei. Jon did not have to hide every small piece of himself that could be used against him.”

 

Sansa tries to imagine Jon dealing with the lies and the schemes of the Great Houses. Her lips turn to a frown. There is much work to be done if Jon can ever sit on the Iron Throne. He’s spent so much time at the Wall that he’s blind to the politics of Westeros.

 

The flap to her tent opens. Sansa eyes Brienne from over Lord Reed’s shoulder. “Lady Sansa, a word if you will?”

 

Sansa responds with a simple curt nod before exiting the tent. She walks by Brienne’s side in silence. Flakes of snow fall from sky. _Winter is Coming_. They must prepare for the Long Winter or the North will starve. Ramsay will not provide provisions for the smallfolk. Sansa thinks of the bread riots of King’s Landing and grimaces at the very thought. The North cannot be treated as the Southern Rulers have been treating their people. It will be cold and the food will be scarce. They have to win this battle as soon as possible and prepare for what is to come, or even their own people will turn on them. Sansa thinks of the glassy eyes of women and children starving in King's Landing. She will not have it—not if she has the power to stop it.

 

“Lady Sansa.” Brienne interrupts her thoughts. “Jon Snow has informed me that you wish to ride with him to meet with Ramsay.”

 

Sansa lets out a frustrated breath. _Of course_ Jon would go to Brienne to persuade her to stay.

 

“I have to show Ramsay that I no longer fear him.” Sansa pauses as Ramsay’s cruel stare haunts her mind. “Not just for my people but for myself.”

 

“I advise against it,” Brienne says.

 

Sansa stops and turns to look to Brienne. “I cannot just hide behind Jon forever. I have to fight battles of my own.”

 

“Yes,” Brienne agrees. “But, he might threaten you or bring back memories of your marriage to him. I know he wasn’t kind to you. I wish to protect you not just by shielding you from your enemies but also by protecting your heart and mind. I made a vow to your mother, Lady Sansa. I intend to keep it.”

 

Sansa draws in a deep breath before she looks up to Brienne. “I have to face him. Even if Jon cuts him down in battle tomorrow, it won’t be enough for me. I have to see him and face him. I have the freedom to say as I wish before him now, and this is the last chance I’m going to get to speak freely. _I need to do this._ ”

 

There’s a look of understanding that crosses Brienne’s features before she gives a small nod. Sansa wonders if anyone had tried or succeeded in hurting Brienne like Ramsay had hurt her. She prays to the Gods that Brienne has never faced something so horrible.

 

“Do you have any idea what you are going to tell him?” Brienne asks.

 

“I’m going to tell him that he’s going to die tomorrow,” Sansa answers. “And, maybe something else too. I’m not so sure yet.”

 

“I hope that your words to him ring true, Lady Sansa,” Brienne says.

 

“So do I.” A tinge of doubt seeps through Sansa’s voice, because she’s so used to losing. Her eyes glance to Jon who’s watching her from afar. If she loses him, she knows that it will devastate her. Sansa breaks her gaze from Jon and looks up to the falling snow. _You’re going to die tomorrow, Lord Bolton. Sleep well._ She thinks the words so easily. This is what she will tell him, and she will pray to the Old Gods that her words come true.

  
  



	11. Jon VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a lot of this during my hiatus. I actually have two more chapters almost done. Now that the fandom seems to have simmered a bit after the finale, I feel like it's much easier to post (and write as well). Dark Dany is now the canon interpretation of Daenerys. So, that makes it so much easier to know I was always correct in my theories about her.

Jon slows his horse and raises his hand to signal his soldiers to stop. The men pledged to Ramsay are stretched out in a long line across from them. Jon looks to the flayed man displayed on the banners across from him. The Stark banners carried by his men won’t intimidate the men pledged to Ramsay. The Starks have been on the losing side of the wars of the Seven Kingdoms since Joffrey commanded the beheading of Lord Eddard Stark. Jon wonders how he would be perceived if he rode with banners of black with dragons in red. Would that be enough to inspire fear in Ramsay’s men? Jon shuts his eyes and breathes. _Fear is not the way to lead_ , he reminds himself. He cannot stoop to cruelty or excessive brutality.

 

Jon glances to see Rickon tied to a rope. Ramsay is tugging him along with him as if Rickon is a mere dog being drug along with a leash. His anger burns hot within him, and for a split moment, he wants to subject Ramsay to his house words. _Fire & Blood_—Ramsay would deserve it. Jon’s hands tremble with rage as he holds the reins to his horse in his hands. He’ll make sure the Bolton House disappears before this battle is over.

 

Jon tries to smother the flames of anger that burn within him. Since Melisandre brought him back to the living his mind has been subject to moments of anger and darkness that he never struggled with before. He remembers the first time he saw a man at the Wall leer at Sansa and how much he wanted to hurt him. Then, there was Baelish after that. There are so many times his mind has called for him to _kill_ and the only thing that seems to stop him is thinking of Sansa. He reaches to that part of his past before he went to the Wall. He remembers what it was like before the Starks were scattered. _If I forget, I am lost._ He thinks it to himself as a reminder of who he’s supposed to be. Before he died, he had honor and principles that he believed in. _I won’t forget_ , he thinks.

 

Jon steadies his mind. Their army looks dismal in comparison to Ramsay’s. Sansa will ride in with the Knights of the Vale soon enough, but not before Jon has convinced Ramsay that the odds are in his favor. Howland Reed rides up to his side.

 

“He’s going to use Rickon Stark to bait you,” Howland Reed states.

 

“I know,” is all Jon can say. There’s a sense of hopelessness that fills him. He glances to Rickon from the other side of the battlefield.

 

“What should I do?” Jon asks. “I can’t let him die.”

 

“You can’t put yourself at risk either,” Howland suggests. “If both you and Rickon fall today, the North will be out of reach.”

 

“Sansa will return to the Vale,” Jon reminds.

 

“With Lord Baelish,” Lord Reed states. “His intentions with her are anything but honest.”

 

“Seven Hells!” Jon hisses.

 

“Seven Hells, indeed,” Lord Reed says sardonically.

 

Jon notices Ramsay leaning over Rickon. Rickon starts to run forward. Jon’s hands tighten around the reins of his horse, but Reed raises his hand to stop him. He lowers his hand to gesture a man on horseback to make the run to Rickon in Jon’s place.

 

“It’s too much of a risk,” Reed states. “We cannot stray from the plans we laid out last night.”

 

Jon watches as the Reed soldier rides to Rickon. Rickon is running in a straight line. An arrow flies through the sky and barely misses Rickon.

 

“ _Move to the side_ ,” Jon mutters under his breath. “Don’t run straight.”

 

Jon gestures for his horse to ride left to meet with Tormund. Reed follows behind him. Jon can’t help but glance over his shoulder to see the man riding towards Rickon. An arrow flies through the air before hitting straight through Rickon’s chest. A cold feeling rushes through Jon. _He failed Rickon._ He thinks of the ghost of Eddard Stark sitting in the Godswood of the afterlife. He sees Ned’s solemn grey eyes looking to him in disappointment.

 

“There was nothing you could have done,” Reed insists. “Rickon would have still died had you attempted to ride to his rescue. You would have ridden into a trap.”

 

Jon glances over his shoulder. Archers from his army are knocking back arrows and shooting towards Ramsay’s men. The Wilding men are riding towards him with Tormund leading the charge. Jon shifts his horse so that he’s riding back towards Ramsay. _He’s going to kill him._ It’s the least he can do for Rickon.

 

Jon’s anger spikes as he looks upon where Ramsay sits high on his horse. He waits for his men to charge Ramsay before he charges at him from the side at full speed. If they flank Ramsay from both sides, he’ll be forced to retreat back to Winterfell. But, not before he opens the gates for Jon to take the castle.

 

Ramsay glances to Jon rushing towards him with Tormund’s army following behind him. He raises his hand in the air and barks an order Jon can’t make out what Ramsay says, but he imagines it can’t be anything good. He glances to archers raising their bows and knocking back arrows. A sea of arrows fly from the sky. He tenses as they fall down towards them. One grazes the leather of his left arm, but Jon remains without injury. He sucks in a deep breath and draws Longclaw from his leather sheath.

 

There isn’t enough time for Ramsay to order for arrows to rain down on them once more. Tormund’s army of Wildlings meet with Ramsay’s army. Jon slashes at a man lifting a spear towards him and cuts his spear hand clean off. His eyes gaze over Ramsay’s men to see the Knights of the Vale clear the hillside. He needs to stay alive just a little bit longer.

 

Ramsay’s gaze follows Jon’s. The sneer across his lips turns to a look of panic. He retreats backward with a few of his trusted men. Jon bares his teeth in anger and pulls away from the fray to chase Ramsay with Tormund and Lord Reed following close behind him.

 

The gates to Winterfell open for Ramsay. Jon doesn’t hesitate to chase him inside. A spear hits the side of Jon’s horse, causing the horse to fall to its side and throw Jon to the muddy grounds of Winterfell. He rolls to his side but not before an arrow lands where he once lay.

 

“Jon!” He can hear Lord Reed call to him.

 

Jon glances upward to see a shield being thrown in his direction. He catches the green wooden shield and raises it to shield himself from Ramsay’s next arrow. The lizard on this piece of wood will be pierced full of arrows before the battle is over.

 

Several arrows come from above. Jon raises his shield, watching as several arrows pierce through the top of his shield. _Seven hells!_ He should have reconsidered his strategy before running straight into Winterfell. Jon’s right-hand clings to Longclaw. All he can think to do is drive the end of his sword through Ramsay.

 

“You’ve lost Ramsay!” Jon shouts from under the shield. “Yield!”

 

There’s a banging sound on the wooden gates to Winterfell that Ramsay’s men had closed behind them. He can hear Wun Wun howling from behind him when the doors crash down. Jon grits his teeth and peers from above his shield to see Ramsay standing with a bow in one hand and an arrow in another. He’s lost everything and yet he still chooses to fight to the bitter end.

 

Jon raises to his feet. An arrow pierces through the top of his shield. Jon moves forward, blocking Ramsay’s arrows as they come towards him. He’s close enough to him to make a physical attack. Jon hits him with the bottom end of his shield, knocking Ramsay clean off his feet. The shield splits on contact and Jon tosses the severed shield to the ground.

 

He looks down upon Ramsay and raises Longclaw above him, pointing the end to Ramsay. It seems too easy for him to die this way. Jon raises the sword, but stops when he sees Sansa looking to him with blue eyes wide. He doesn’t want to do this—not in front of her.

 

“Jon…” she calls to him.

 

Ramsay’s eyes flicker to her. “Ah, Sansa, my sweet wife…”

 

Jon shuts his eyes, trying his best to fight his rage, but he can’t seem to fight it. The way Ramsay looks to Sansa and the sound of his voice is too overwhelming. He can’t fight the anger the brews within him. He drives the sword downward straight through Ramsay’s chest. He doesn’t die instantly as Jon had expected. Instead, he coughs blood and wheezes.

 

“She’s lovely, Jon Snow...your sister,” Ramsay smiles up at him with lips covered in blood. “I wish I could have had one last night with her.”

 

“She’s not my sister, and my name isn’t Jon Snow.” He looks to see men watching him. It’s now or never. “My name is Jaehaerys Targaryen—son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.”

 

He pulls the sword from Ramsay and drives it down once more. Shock appears in Ramsay’s eyes just before Jon drives Longclaw through Ramsay for the second time. The light seems to die from Ramsay’s eyes as his body succumbs to death. Jon pulls Longclaw from Ramsay and sheathes the blade of Valyrian steel by his side. He looks across to him at Sansa. His secret has been revealed for all to hear now. They don’t have to hide what’s between them anymore.

 

Jon looks around him to the Northern soldiers pledged to his side. Lyanna Mormont’s eyes look up to him with as much shock as Ramsay’s did. Even Tormund is silent for the first time since Jon first met him. Howland Reed’s eyes are neutral as he looks to Jon. He looks to see Lord Umber who falls to his knees with a destitute look in his eyes.

 

When Lord Umber rejected his offer to join Jon in battle and decided to ride with Ramsay, he hadn’t known that he was rejecting the true heir to the Iron Throne. Jon can’t even imagine how devastating that might feel. Reed’s men are pulling Lord Umber from the ground and placing chains around his wrists. Jon glares to him. He has no remorse in his heart for a traitor that would even think to back Ramsay Bolton.

 

Jon’s gaze turns to Sansa. Several words run through his mind until he finally settles on on simple phrase. “The North is yours, Lady Stark.”

 

All eyes are on him. He can’t handle the raging emotions that threaten to ensnare him. So, he retreats to the one place he’s been longing to go to since he returned to the living—the Winterfell crypts. Jon moves between a pair of Mormont soldiers and follows the path to the crypts that is still traced in his mind so perfectly even after all this time.

 

Jon grimaces at the beheaded direwolf statues sitting before the crypt. Fear overcomes him as he imagines what disgraced statues might lie inside. Panic overcomes him as he moves through the dimly lit hallway. He needs to see _her_. He needs it more than he’s ever needed anything. _Please be here_ , Jon thinks to himself as he pushes back the fear that Ramsay might have desecrated her statue.

 

Jon slows when he sees _her_ standing raised on her stone platform. Tears sting his eyes as he approaches the statue of Lyanna Stark. He reaches out for her and sets his hand on the carved stone.

 

 _Jaehaerys_ , she had called to him in death. He had reached out to her, but he never did take her hand. Jon wonders if he could have even been brought back if he managed to take her hand in the afterlife. Tears flow freely now and Jon can’t help but drop to his knees. His hand trails down until he reaches his mother’s feet. She should have lived. He could have lived in exile with her. _She should have lived._

 

“Jon…”

 

He raises his gaze to see Sansa looking down upon him. He wipes his eyes with his free hand to hide his tears. All he can manage to say is, “I needed to see her.”

 

Sansa steps towards him and drops down to her knees. “I know.”

 

Jon’s freehand reaches out for Sansa. She takes his hand in hers. The piece of himself that he feels like he lost in death always seems to find him when he’s with her. Jon raises to his feet, keeping his hand in hers. He looks up to Lyanna Stark’s statue. He had passed her over and over for years without much of a thought. Back then, she was someone that existed before he was born. He could have never known.

 

“I was afraid that the Boltons destroyed her,” Jon says. “I saw the severed heads of direwolves in front of the crypts and feared they had done worse.”

 

Sansa gives Jon’s head a gentle squeeze. “She would have been proud of you today. I’m sure she still is wherever she is.”

 

“I don’t know where to go from here.” Jon doesn’t just admit it to Sansa but also to himself. “I’m not sure where to end this. We have enemies north and south of us. I don’t want to fail you.”

 

“You won’t fail me,” Sansa’s voice is soft. “Jon…”

 

“My name isn’t Jon,” he reminds.

 

Sansa turns to look up to him. Her blue eyes raise to meet his. He can see all the emotions she’s trying to hide behind those blue eyes.

 

“You’ll always be Jon to me.”

 

Jon draws her into an embrace, holding her close to him. One hand cups the back of her head as he allows himself to lean into her. The safest he ever feels is when he’s close to her. He kisses the top of her forehead and reminds himself why he chose to be a King. It was never for power. It was always to protect her. He glances to Lyanna Stark’s statue. Lyanna and Eddard Stark we’re close. His mother would want him to protect her brother’s daughter. Jon never wanted a crown, and a piece of him still wants to run from it but he knows what he must do. The only way to keep Sansa safe is to defeat the Army of the Dead and remove Cersei Lannister from power.

 

* * *

 

No one has addressed him since the battle had been won. People were calling it the Battle of the Bastards, but can they still call it that now? He isn’t even sure. Was he a bastard of Rhaegar and Lyanna? Targaryens are known to take on more than one wife. Jon frowns when he thinks to Elia, Aegon, and Rhaenys. It would seem that his father abandoned them.

 

Jon looks over the battlements out at the fresh white snow falling to the ground. He wonders if the North will reject him. He’s starting to doubt his decision to reveal himself to them, but there’s still a sense of relief to it all. He no longer has to live a lie and people now know that Lord Stark never disrespected Catelyn Stark. A lie was told to protect him and nothing more.

 

Footsteps crunch against the fallen snow on the stone of the battlements. Jon turns to see Sansa. He can’t help but smile a little at her. He can’t think of a time that he was this happy since Ygritte. There’s a sense of hope in it all. When he lost Ygritte, he feared he never feel this way for another again. But, he does and that in itself gives him hope. Jon turns back to look out on the winter snow.

 

Sansa stands by his side. “With the loss of Rickon, the Northern Lords are unsure of how to proceed. There is no longer a male heir to Winterfell unless Bran returns. They won’t make me their sovereign.”

 

“They should,” Jon insists. “You went with me to all of the Northern Houses. You secured the Knights of the Vale. The battle was a victory for both of us.”

 

“It wasn’t without sacrifice,” Sansa’s voice is uneasy. “Lord Baelish decided to ride with us, and now he is here. He knows exactly who you are now. I fear what he might do. He knows your not fond of him.”

 

Jon smiles when he remembers what happened in Molestown. “What gave him that idea?”

 

“It might have been something that happened in Molestown.” Jon can tell that she’s trying to say it in an even tone but she lets out a little laugh at the end.

 

Jon laughs a little himself and smiles. “I couldn’t have been that terrible.”

 

“He says you attacked him and attributed it to Targaryen madness,” Sansa says with another laugh.

 

They both laugh once more before an ominous sort of quiet falls over them. He can see this look in Sansa’s face from the corner of his eye. She didn’t just come up here to jest about Baelish. She has something far more urgent to tell him. Jon turns to look to her.

 

“Jon…” Sansa pauses before she continues. “A raven came from the citadel—a white raven. _Winter is here._ ”

 

The Army of the Dead comes to the forefront of his mind. He’s been so caught up on taking Winterfell back that he’s forgotten about the threat behind the wall. They have allies, but it won’t be enough. He’s not sure who in Westeros would actually care to help. Cersei clearly won’t care, but surely there are High Lords that will.

 

Jon takes both of Sansa’s hands in his. He looks to her lips before flickering back to her eyes. He steps forward, meaning to kiss her on the forehead but kisses her on the lips instead. There’s a certain feeling of freedom when he realizes at that moment that he no longer has to hide how he feels anymore. He can be affectionate with her without the lingering fear of what others might say. He pulls away from her and cups her cheek as he looks to her.

 

“The Northern Lords will wish to speak with us in the Great Hall,” Jon says. “But, first Rickon must be laid to rest. He deserves peace.”

 

Jon envisions Rickon in the afterlife seeing the people he loved and cared about just as Jon had when he died. He imagines Rickon meeting with his father in the Godswood. He’s with his father now. He’s with his mother and Robb too. Jon thinks to ask Melisandre to bring him back, but Jon remembers that part of himself that feels lost to him. He can’t ask Melisandre to put Rickon through what he’s going through. He’s too young. He might lose himself.

 

Jon takes Sansa’s arm in his and leads her through Winterfell. Memories of Rickon fill his mind. He clings to them. He clings to memories of Robb, Ned, and even Lady Catelyn. If he forgets who he once was, he’s afraid of what he will become.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next couple of chapters are going to be really sweet for Jon and Sansa. That's what I'm promising next.
> 
> Also, I'm going by the book canon where when someone dies they struggle a bit with themselves a little bit more each time they are revived. This isn't Dark!Jon, but he's going to struggle a little bit with his negative emotions towards Ramsay, Littlefinger, and later Daenerys and Cersei quite a bit.


	12. Sansa VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Jon and Sansa! That is all I'm saying before we begin!

It doesn’t quite feel real when Sansa wakes up in her mother and father’s room. She had drank too much the night before—not because she was celebrating their victory, but because of the loss of Rickon. It seems that her dreams of being reunited with her family are slowly falling away from her. She’s afraid to hope for Bran and Arya to return to her, because she fears they too will be ripped away from her by her enemies.

 

Memories from last night come to her mind. She remembers that point where she drank too much. She couldn’t walk quite right. Jon had to carry her to her room as if she were his bride. He had helped her to bed and kissed her goodnight. The last thing she remembers is the door to her room clicking shut when he left her.

 

Sansa sits up and looks down on her dress of blue velvet. He had left her completely dressed. The only things he had removed were her boots and cloak. Sansa glances to the side to see a simple dress of grey folded on top of a fresh pair of shifts. A piece of parchment lays next to the pile of clean clothing. Sansa unfolds the piece of paper and reads words that are jagged and spaced enough to be Jon’s lettering. She smiles when she reads, _“For when you wake up.”_ She could almost laugh. She had forgotten how much Jon and Arya both struggled with their lettering as children.

 

Sansa changes into her fresh clothes and dons her boots. Sansa goes to the mirror to brush her hair out, but neglects to style it. She’s too starved to care much about braiding her hair. Sansa crosses her room and leaves in search of the one person she wishes to see at the moment— _Jon_.

 

But, it isn’t Jon who finds her first. The man that first crosses her path is the last person she had hoped to see. Her booted feet plant themselves on the floor as she looks upon Littlefinger. It’s as if bells are ringing in her mind to warn her. There’s no use pretending with smiles and courtesies. Sansa resigns on standing completely still and glaring at him as if they’re about to duel rather than speak to one another.

 

“Lady Stark…” Both words sound as if they are laced with poison.

 

“Lord Baelish,” Sansa’s tone comes off as strained and she doesn’t even bother to dip into any sort of courtesy.

 

“I imagined your _half-brother_ would be escorting you to the Great Hall to break your fast,” Littlefinger’s words are polite in the same way Cersei’s words were when she had to address Sansa in public gatherings.

 

It’s a test. Littlefinger wants to see how she feels about Jon’s claim. Sansa chooses her words carefully. “It would seem that he never was my half-brother.”

 

“So he says,” Littlefinger replies. “The proof has yet to be seen.”

 

“If you think Jon can put together a lie so clever solely to benefit his own aspirations, you don’t know Jon,” Sansa says.

 

“Maybe it’s you who are underestimating him,” Littlefinger takes a step towards her. Sansa reacts by taking an instinctive step back.

 

“When you wrote to me for aid, I fought for you, Sansa,” Littlefinger reminds. “I had a vision of you as my Queen.”

 

“It appears Jaehaerys Targaryen will be our next King,” Sansa says. “What you or I want no longer matters. Neither you or I have any reasonable claim to anything that lies south.”

 

“So, you were made aware of the truth when Jon chose to reveal himself to the rest of us, then? You were unaware of his motivations?” Littlefinger asks.

 

Sansa chooses her next words carefully and decides on a lie. He can’t know that feelings have developed between them. “Yes. Till yesterday I believed Jon to be my half-brother.”

 

“It appears he has lied to you,” Littlefinger states.

 

Sansa could almost laugh. For Littlefinger of all people to accuse another person of being a liar is like making hypocrisy an art form itself.

 

“Sansa, he attacked me in Molestown,” Littlefinger takes an aggressive step towards her as a show of the power imbalance that Sansa recognizes he’s always exploited with her. Sansa takes a sharp step back in response.

 

“He thought he was protecting me,” Sansa replies. “He’s not violent.”

 

“You believe him to be a Targaryen,” Baelish’s voice drops to that low tone that always sends a shiver down her spine. “You do remember who his grandfather was, do you not?”

 

“I do,” Sansa replies. “And, I also remember who you married me to. Ramsay would have been just as terrible of a King as Aerys if the world allowed him to rule.”

 

Her loyalties at that moment have been made clear and a certain kind of rage dances behind Littlefinger’s eyes. It scares her that she can see this fury in his eyes yet the rest of his features appear so calm.

 

“You’re in love with him,” he accuses. “This means that you’ve known who he was far before anyone else. You lied to your people and you lied to me. It appears your father also lied to his people, his wife, and his King for a lost Targaryen prince of all people. Cersei’s suspicions of Eddard Stark’s treason don’t seem quite so far fetched now.”

 

Sansa isn’t sure why but when she looks to Baelish all she can see is Joffrey and Ramsay. Littlefinger never did care for her. She’s known that for awhile, but what she couldn’t have suspected is that it’s possible for him to be just as dangerous as the rest of the men that abused her.

 

She squares her shoulders before speaking. “If I was _in love with_ Jaehaerys Targaryen, there wouldn’t be much you could do about it, would there? The North sees him as their hero, not you. No one wants you to rule over them Baelish. You're a fool if you ever thought you had any kind of claim to the Iron Throne.”

 

“Sansa…!”

 

The sound of Jon’s voice eases the tension that Littlefinger created within her. Sansa turns to see him marching towards both of them. Jon purposely stands between her and Baelish. His hand falls to Longclaw.

 

“Did I not make myself clear in Molestown?” Jon growls. “Stay away from her! I won’t repeat myself again!”

 

“That’s no way to thank me for riding to your aid Jon Snow or is it _Lord Targaryen_ now?” Littlefinger asks. “I’m not quite sure how I should even address you.”

 

Jon grabs Littlefinger by his collar and shoves him against the wall. “I could give a horse’s shit how you address me. What are you? _Lord of Harrenhal_? A title given to you by a fraudulent King if I recall correctly.”

 

“ _My Lady, my Lord...!_ ”

 

A soldier dressed in Reed green is marching toward both of them. His hand touches the hilt of his sword. “Are you in need of assistance?”

 

“Yes!” Baelish shouts. “This man is attacking me!"

 

“I was addressing Lord Jaehaerys,” the soldier clarifies for Baelish.

 

The color seems to fade from Littlefinger’s face. He’s starting to recognize how powerless he has become against Jon—a sharp warning that they will need to act fast before Littlefinger can spin his lies.

 

Jon releases Littlefinger, but keeps his eyes on him. “ _Lord_ Baelish was returning to his room. Be sure he breaks his fast in his room and do not let him leave until _I_ allow it."

 

"Yes, my lord!" the soldier replies.

 

Jon stares down Baelish as the soldier escorts him away. When Littlefinger is out of sight, Jon’s turns to her. All his anger seems to dissolve in an instant. He rushes towards her and cups both his cheeks in her hands. She sees his loving eyes glance over her and it’s a strong reminder of how safe she truly is when Jon is by her side.

 

“Did he touch you?”

 

Sansa shakes her head into both of his hands before saying, “No.”

 

A deep breath of relief escapes Jon's lips. “No one is going to hurt you anymore—not while I’m here. I promise you, Sansa.”

 

Jon’s hands drop to take both her hands in his. She’s getting so used to his soft gestures now. It starting to feel so _normal_ to be loved. For so long Sansa has been deprived of kindness that every little touch from Jon makes her head feel so light. It doesn’t even seem real to her sometimes that someone in this world can love and care for her.

 

“Jon,” Sansa whispers. “The people are already referring to you as _my lord_. What will you do when they start calling you _your grace?_ ”

 

“You believe they will?” Jon asks.

 

“You have a strong claim and the people see you as a leader,” Sansa says. “They have to back someone that’s fought and won. The North has lost for so long, but you took Winterfell back. It’s the biggest victory the North has had in a long time. They might not have chosen you to lead yet, but they will.”

 

“I don’t care about being King,” Jon pauses to brush a strand of hair away from her eyes. “But, if I am chosen to be King, I want you to be my queen.”

 

Jon’s words stun her. Sansa should have seen it coming, but maybe a part of her was convinced that his kisses and his little touches didn’t run quite as deep as her feelings for him. Maybe she’s just so used to being tossed aside as if she were nothing that she didn’t truly believe that he loved her quite as much as she loves him.

 

Jon leans just a little bit closer to her, his lips so close to hers. “I love you, Sansa.”

 

Sansa’s breath catches in her throat. She can see that he means every word he says just by glancing into his eyes. She leans forward and rests her head on his shoulder. All she can do is manage to whisper, “I love you too, Jon.”

 

The words she speaks are real. It’s not like the times she had falsely declared her love for men to appease them. It's the first time she truly loved a man. She clings to him just a little bit longer before breaking away. They can’t stay like this for long. Howland Reed was correct when he suggested that they don’t show their feelings so publically. People might make their own assumptions about them and those assumptions may be nefarious.

 

Jon takes her arm in his and leads her to the Great Hall. Breakfast is laid out for both of them at the lord’s table. Sansa looks to see who is in attendance. Lord Reed and Ser Davos are sitting across from each other, both deep in conversation. Brienne sits by Ser Davos’ side, listening intently to what Davos is saying. Sansa smiles. She’s grateful that their most loyal allies seem to be getting along.

 

Her eyes glance to another table to see Lord Royce with many other lords from the Vale. He glances up to her with what appears to be a look of approval. This eases Sansa’s anxious feelings on Littlefinger’s arrest.

 

Jon rounds the table. He releases Sansa’s arm from his and pulls out a chair for her. Jon waits for her to sit before taking his seat next to her. These mannerisms he’s adopted are from her mother and father. It brings a smile to her face.

 

A servant prepares Jon and Sansa’s plates for them before pouring both of them hot tea. Sansa can feel the heat pouring off of the mug from where she sits. She thanks the servant before taking the mug in hand. Sansa takes a sip of the warm liquid. She sets the mug before her as an overwhelming feeling runs through her.

 

It’s just her and Jon sitting up here. She never could have dreamed that she’d ever feel safe like she does by Jon’s side. His hand falls on top of hers. His gesture has caught the attention of several eyes in the room. It really is no use telling him to keep their feelings for each other hidden. Jon’s already made it so apparent to those around him.

 

“When we meet with all the Northern Lords tonight, I’m going to ask that we be married,” Jon pauses and studies her. “You do want to be married, Sansa?”

 

The way she answers so quickly surprises her. “Yes, that is what I want.”

 

It all feels so fast. She remembers the exact moment she first set eyes on him at the Wall. She thought that she would remain there until she could find allies in the North. She had never expected Jon to leave with her. She never could have foreseen his true parentage. None of this she could have ever predicted back then.

 

“I asked Lord Yohn Royce and the Northern Lords for private council,” Jon says. “I don’t know much about politics, but a choice of leadership needs to be made. We also need to discuss what is to be done about Baelish.”

 

“Baelish isn’t a subject of the North,” Sansa reminds. “We can’t pass judgment on him. He is Lord Protector of the Vale and a subject of Tommen Baratheon. There are consequences, Jon.”

 

“Lord Royce has means to believe that Lord Baelish is a threat to Robert Arryn,” Jon whispers the first sentence before returning to his normal tone. “I think we should hear what he has to say on the matter.”

 

“Lord Royce came to you with these suspicions?” Sansa asks.

 

“After I saw you to your chambers, he had a word with me in private” Jon replies.

 

Jon hasn’t even announced his claim, and it would seem that one of the Lords of the Vale has already decided on his King. The North may hold their reservations, but it’s clear who Lord Royce wants as their next sovereign. Sansa can’t fault him for it. Jon’s claim is the strongest and he’s shown himself to be capable thus far.

 

There’s a sense of fear that overcomes her. If Jon is King, he will have to face the political games that are played in Westeros. She doesn’t want to see him beheaded like her father was. She wants Jon to be safe in the North with her.

 

Jon withdraws his hand from hers. He takes his steaming mug of tea in hand and sips. He sets his tea down on the table and looks out to the guests below. “When I was a child, I always wanted to sit up here with you and your family. I wanted to be a Stark, but that’s impossible now. Truthfully, I didn’t stop wanting to be a Stark until _you_ arrived at the Wall. You used to wear dragonflies. I don’t remember his name. It was after someone in my family.”

 

“Duncan Targaryen,” Sansa says. “Prince of the Dragonflies.”

 

“You know more about my family then I do.” There’s a tinge of sorrow in his voice.

 

“My mother wanted me to learn. She wanted me to marry a High Lord just like she had,” Sansa says. “You were thought to be a bastard at the time. No one could have thought that you would ever need to learn anything more than how to swing a sword. Maybe my father thought you might need a formal education, but I doubt my mother would have allowed it. If only she had known…”

 

“Your father did what he thought was best,” Jon says. “He didn’t want to endanger your mother with the burden of keeping a secret. If she had accepted me with open arms, it would raise too many questions.”

 

It’s true. Had her mother taken in Jon as her own, people would start to doubt her father’s account of Jon’s birth. Sansa eats her food in silence. She wishes her mother could have known before she passed. It’s hard to look back on all that’s happened. She left Winterfell to marry a prince. Sansa takes a sip of her hot tea. It would seem that she’s returned to her home to marry a King.

 

* * *

 

Her father’s old solar seems cramped with the Northern Lords, Lord Royce of the Vale and Ser Davos Seaworth. Sansa looks reluctantly at the chair that her father so often sat in. Does it belong to her now? Jon is not a Stark, and as far as she knows, she is the only surviving Stark. Bran and Arya may very well be alive, but until they return to Winterfell, she is the last Stark in the North. Sansa takes her seat before her father’s desk. Her hands touch the wood, feeling it with her fingertips. It’s hard to believe that she is sitting here. Jon stands at her right and smiles down at her before turning his attention back to the lords. Reed stands loyally at her left.

 

“If my information is correct,”  Lord Royce begins. “You have detained Lord Baelish to his room.”

 

“I have reason to believe he is a threat to the safety of the North,” Jon replies. “When he took in Sansa Stark as his ward, he did not hold to his duties to protect her. He exploited her and sent her to marry Ramsay Bolton.”

 

“I, too, have long suspected him as a threat,” Lord Royce states. “But not just to the North. I have reason to believe that he is behind the murder of our fallen Lord Jon Arryn.”

 

“From what I recall, the Lannisters poisoned Jon Arryn,” Sansa states. “That is what my father went to investigate in King’s Landing when he left Winterfell with Arya and I. As much as I’d like to Petyr Baelish see justice, we can’t change him with assumptions alone.”

 

“Lord Baelish is not here to inspire fear, Lady Stark,” Lord Royce looks to her. “I would like to hear the truth of what happened with Lysa Arryn.”

 

The whole room becomes quiet as all eyes fall to Sansa. A nervous void fills her stomach. She had lied in fear that she would be returned to King’s Landing to face trial for Joffrey’s assassination. She looks up to Jon who looks down to her with the sweetest eyes. Jon sets his hand on her shoulder and it’s all she needs to bare her truth.

 

“I fled King’s Landing after the assassination of Joffrey. I did not take part in it, but considering my brother Robb’s rebellion against the crown, I assumed that I would be made suspect regardless,” Sansa begins. “I feared for my life at the time. Baelish promised that he would keep me safe from the Lannisters. I feared that without him that I would be returned to King’s Landing to stand trial for a crime I never even committed.”

 

Sansa draws in a deep breath of air and releases it. She looks Lord Royce in the eyes. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t truthful the first time I was asked, but I can be truthful now without fear of what might happen to me for speaking the truth. Lysa Arryn did not fall from the moon door. Petyr Baelish pushed her over the edge. He used her own petty jealousies to his own advantage to work her into a fit of rage. This put her in a position where he could murder her. I almost died at my aunt's hands as a result.”

 

“There’s nothing stopping us from bringing Baelish to justice for his crimes,” Lord Royce states. “I have been wary of him for quite some time. Now, I can see clearly that my suspicions were correct.”

 

“I can’t bring Baelish to justice,” Sansa says. “He is not a subject of the North. He is Lord Protector of the Vale. Robert Arryn is responsible for taking action against him. I’m not sure who Lord Arryn answers to. Clearly not King Tommen if the Vale was able to ride to our aid.”

 

“King Tommen is not my King!” Lyanna Mormont shouts. “He is a Lannister bastard!”

 

“Jon should be our King.” All eyes turn to Ser Davos Seaworth. “Excuse me. I suppose I should be referring to you as Jaehaerys Targaryen now.”

 

“I’ve been _Jon_ all my life,” Jon replies. “It doesn’t make any difference to me what name people use.”

 

“You should be our King,” Ser Davos says states once more. “The Vale has aided the North in treason against King Tommen by aiding Lady Stark in taking back Winterfell. The Queen Mother is not going to be so forgiving of Lord Robert Arryn or even Littlefinger for that matter. The Lords of the Vale have to answer to a new King. You are the only person with a legitimate claim to the throne, Lord Jaehaerys. The Baratheon line died with Stannis. The realm may have their reservations on House Targaryen, but you were raised by Lord Eddard Stark. The people will see that you won’t follow the same path as your grandfather.”

 

Sansa looks to Ser Davos then to Lord Royce. “I personally can’t bring Lord Baelish to justice, but King Jaehaerys III Targaryen can ask that Lord Arryn allow us to finally see that he pays for his crimes. I am aware that the Lords Declarant of the Vale have long been trying to remove Baelish from power. This would be an effective way to put an end to Littlefinger’s games.”

 

Sansa looks up to Jon. His eyes meet with hers. It’s now or never. Either Jon takes his place as King or he cast aside his crown for another.

 

“You would have me as your King?” Jon looks to the lords gathered in the room.

 

“You are the only choice the Vale has,” Lord Royce states.

 

“I was named after your lady mother,” Lyanna Mormont looks up to Jon. “House Mormont will have you as our King.”

 

“I will accept, but on one condition. I wish for Sansa Stark to be my Queen,” Jon glances down to Sansa. “That is if you will have me, Lady Stark.”

 

Sansa smiles and looks up to Jon. “I would be honored to accept your proposal.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was always confused why D&D just decided that people were going to allow Baelish to hang out in the North despite knowing the crimes he committed. That and I really would prefer not to write the Stark Sisters fighting for no reason later on. So, I'm dealing with Baelish early on. 
> 
> Also, I have to give a huge thank you to my readers. I wasn't sure how many would be interested in reading this but the response to this has been over the moon. Thank you so much. I love hearing from all of you.


	13. Jon VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are getting longer and longer. This one I think was the longest I've written. Before we begin, I fully believe D&D dumbed Jon in the show to make their nonsensical plots work. Jon in the books was able to play the game with the Wildlings. He was not just a dumb honorable fool. He also bucked authority quite a bit. So, MuhQueen!Jon was insulting to watch. Anyways, I won't spoil too much here.

Stark soldiers follow closely behind Jon as he moves through the dungeons of Winterfell. He hasn’t seen Littlefinger since he ordered one of Reed’s men to detain Baelish to his room. He has since replaced that room with a cell—a place more fitting from a man like Petyr Baelish. Jon steps to the Stark soldier guarding Baelish’s cell.

****

“I would like to have a word with the prisoner,” Jon states.

****

“As you wish, your grace,” the soldier says before unlocking the cell for him.

****

Jon steps inside to see Baelish sitting against a wall. Their eyes meet and Jon can see all the hatred in the world in Littlefinger’s eyes. The door screeches before clanging shut. Jon stares Baelish down like Ghost might stare down a snake in the grass. His entire body burns with anger as he looks into the pair of eyes that Sansa had the misfortune of trusting so many moons ago.

****

“You do know why your here, don’t you?” Jon asks.

****

“You commanded my arrest,” Baelish responds. “Your house name is becoming of you. You believe you can do as you please without consequences just as your grandfather believed. The Vale won’t be pleased that I’m being held prisoner.”

****

“It may disappoint you to hear to that Lord Arryn has declared me as his King,” Jon states. “No one is coming for you, because no one actually likes having you around, Baelish.”

****

“You can’t put me to death for being unlikable,” Baelish responds. “There has to be a crime committed for a trial to occur. I am an innocent man.”

****

Jon can’t help but laugh. “ _nnocent?_ That’s quite the delusion. Sometimes I wonder if you believe your own lies.”

****

“Tell me, _Jaehaerys_ ,” Baelish says his name in a mocking tone. “What crime are you charging me for?”

****

“Marrying Sansa Stark to Ramsay Bolton for starters,” Jon replies. “Robert Arryn also wants to see that you are tried for the murder of his mother, Lysa.”

****

“Lysa Arryn threw herself from the moon door. I did not murder her,” Baelish’s features look so neutral and calm. Jon is starting to see why so many people never second-guessed this man’s lies for so long.

****

“My betrothed has told me a different account of the events that transpired the day Lysa Arryn fell to her death,” Jon states.

****

A deafening silence fills the cell. The air thickens around Jon as the tension between them rises. Jon stares down Baelish and asks, “How many people have allowed you to live and died for it? I have to wonder what kind of horse shit you were spinning when my mother and father were alive.”

****

Jon waits for Baelish to speak but he chooses to remain silent. He thinks of all the things he wants to say to this man. One question sticks in his mind. “Why did you do it? Why did you marry her to that _monster_?”

****

“When Sansa _agreed_ to marry Ramsay Bolton, she was unaware that he would hurt her. I took her to Winterfell. I was not aware that Ramsay was so violent or I would have advised her not to marry him.”

****

The outright lie cuts through Jon in a way that makes his anger bleed out. Jon’s anger flares up like dragon’s fire. “His father murdered her mother and her brother, Baelish! You knew very well that he would hurt her!”

****

Jon’s last word echoes off the walls of the cell. Baelish stares up at him. Jon hates everything about this man’s face, but most of all, he hates his voice.

****

“I love Sansa,” Baelish’s voice is defensive. “I love her like I loved her mother.”

****

Jon’s hand falls on Longclaw’s hilt. It would be so easy just to kill him in his cell and to never have to hear the sound of his voice again. He feels that fiery rage flare up once more, and it takes everything not to give into it.

****

“You don’t love her. You never her or Lady Catelyn _Stark,_ ” Jon emphasizes Catelyn’s last name merely to insult Baelish. Silence falls over them, and a sudden realization comes over Jon when he sees the tinge of panic in Baelish’s eyes. “This has never happened to you before. You haven’t met someone you couldn’t manipulate. You do realize how hopeless, you are? No one is coming for you.”

****

“You don’t think there will be consequences for your choices today? I suppose arrogance does lie in the paternal side of your family. That is if what you say is true? I still have yet to see proof of your claim,” Baelish half-grins. “It would seem that you’re the one that is hopeless after all. People will see that I was just an innocent victim of your lies.”

****

“You’re not as important as you think you are, Littlefinger,” Jon states. “No one, not even the Lannisters, has written to me for your release. I suppose they’re tied up with more important things in King’s Landing.”

****

Jon cannot stand to look upon Baelish’s face any longer. He turns to leave. He recalls Sansa’s last words to Ramsay Bolton and cannot help use them. “You’re going to die today, Lord Baelish.”

****

With those words being said, Jon exits the cell. All of the angry feelings and the darkness inside him seems to lift when the guard shuts the door behind him. There’s a fear inside him that maybe he’s abusing his power—that maybe he’s becoming his grandfather _._ But, this is different. Baelish is not an innocent man. How young are the women that work for his establishments in King’s Landing? Sansa never had a choice but to marry Ramsay Bolton. It’s safe to assume many of the women that worked for him didn’t have a choice either. The vision of Sansa and Ramsay he saw in death comes to his mind and clears all doubt from his mind. Baelish was responsible for that marriage. _This is right,_ Jon thinks to himself. _This is just._

****

Jon exits the dungeons and steps outside onto the grounds of Winterfell. He steps up to the upper deck and walks out to the battlements. Jon’s eyes cast out onto the winter snow. _Winter is here_ , and soon the Night King will follow with his undead army. They need more men to fight.

****

“Jon…”

****

Jon smiles at the sound of Sansa’s voice. She always seems to find him up here. Jon turns to look upon Sansa. She will be his queen soon. His head is light just thinking about it. Soon, nothing will stand between them. Even the threat of the Night King and the Lannisters cannot steal his happiness from him. Jon steps to Sansa. He takes her left hand is his and looks upon her face. Her eyes flicker downward as a smile turns on her lips. To see her so happy is the greatest sight he’s ever seen.

****

Sansa’s smile fades. She places a rolled piece of parchment in hand. Jon releases his hand from Sansa’s and unrolls the parchment. He had expected a summon from Tommen, not from Cersei.

****

“Cersei of House Lannister, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, summons the fraud and bastard Jon Snow to King’s Landing. Set aside this claim of lies and bend the knee to the rightful queen. Refuse and suffer the fate of all traitors,” Jon reads.

****

“Tommen’s dead,” Sansa breathes. “And, Myrcella too.”

****

“Do you think Cersei is responsible?” Jon asks.

****

“Cersei is horrible, but she loved her children. She wouldn’t have murdered them for power,” Sansa replies. “It doesn’t much matter how either of them died now. Our enemies in the south will start to move against us with Cersei on the Iron Throne. Tommen wanted nothing more than to eat apple cakes with his cats. He didn’t have the stomach to for war.”

****

“We have enemies in the North and the South,” Jon says. “We need more allies.”

****

“Myrcella no longer ties Dorne to the Lannisters,” Sansa states. “But, they might feel insulted if we ask them to support your claim. They still remember Elia Martell, Prince Aegon, and Princess Rhaenys. It wasn’t your fault, but…”

****

“My father insulted the Martells,” Jon finishes for her. “They’re not going readily accept me as their King.”

****

“It’s not impossible to win their favor especially against Cersei,” Sansa says. “But, it won’t be easy. Write to the Greyjoys, Jon.”

****

“Theon Greyjoy betrayed Robb,” Jon’s voice hardens.

****

“Balon Greyjoy has died. He meant for Asha to be his heir but Euron and Victarion might contest her. Write to Theon. He might convince one of his relatives to support your claim. He won’t betray us again,” Sansa says.

****

“How can you be so sure?” Jon asks.

****

“Because, Theon saved my life. He’s the reason I was able to escape Winterfell and the reason I’m here with you now.” Sansa’s voice quivers and Jon can see a flicker of sadness in her soft blue eyes.

****

“Your grace, my lady…” A Stark soldier walks towards them, pulling Jon’s gaze from Sansa. “We appear to have two visitors. Samwell Tarly of the Night’s Watch and a mother that appears to be traveling by his side.”

****

_Sam_. Relief seems to pour over him at the very thought of being reunited with his closest friend. Jon marches from the battlements all the way back to the grounds of Winterfell with Sansa following close behind him. Jon’s eyes glance over to Sam who smiles the moment he sees him. Jon walks over to him and hugs him. He gives Sam’s back a pat before parting from him.

****

“It’s good to see you, Sam,” Jon says.

****

“It’s good to see you too, Jon.” Sam presses his lips together nervously. “Sorry, I mean _your grace._ It’s good to see you, _your grace._ ”

****

“Sam, you are my friend,” Jon reminds. “There’s no reason for titles and formalities between us.”

****

Sam smiles. He looks over Jon’s shoulder to Sansa. Jon takes Sansa’s hand in his and guides her forward. “This is my betrothed, Lady Sansa Stark.”

****

Sansa courtesies, and Sam does a small bow. Sam rises to his full height. “It’s an honor to meet you, Lady Stark.”

****

“The honor is mine,” Sansa replies.

****

“I suppose the information I found in the Citadel about you is irrelevant now,” Sam says.

****

“It’s not irrelevant,” Sansa states. “If you have written proof, it will strengthen Jon’s claim against Cersei’s. Her claim is weak to begin with. This will help.”

****

The light in Sam’s eyes seems to dull. “There’s something else. Dragonstone has a mountain of dragon glass. Dragonstone is yours by right of birth and we need dragon glass now more than ever.”

****

“Stannis Baratheon held Dragonstone, but he’s gone,” Jon says. “I imagine Cersei holds it now. It would be foolish to leave it unattended. It would make a good vantage point for an attack on King’s Landing.”

****

“From what I gather, people still inhabit the island,” Sam says. “Smallfolk mostly. You could take it back easily.”

****

They don’t have enough men to hold it if Cersei plans an attack, but they need to obtain dragon glass. “I can go with an emissary in an unmarked boat. If the island is just smallfolk, I can put forth Ser Davos as our leader rather than myself. I will dress like a man from the Night’s Watch. No one there will recognize me.”

****

“Jon,” Sansa’s voice is hardened. Clearly, she does not approve of this. Her eyes glance to Sam before she turns back to Jon. “I need to speak with you privately.”

****

Jon only nods before breaking away from Sam. He follows Sansa up the steps of the upper deck. The two walk side by side in silence. Sansa’s hand touches the wooden railing as her eyes look down upon Brienne and Podrick who are dueling on the grounds.

****

“I don’t want you to go.” Sansa’s tone is stiff and wrought with worry.

****

“I don’t want to leave either,” Jon argues. “But, we need to fight the Night King and the army of the dead that follows him. We need to be prepared. Winter is here. We don’t have much time.”

****

“We were supposed to be married.” The raw disappointment is clear in her tone.

****

“We will marry.” Jon places his hand on top of her hand that rests on the railing. “Before I leave, I promise you we will.”

****

“My father left my mother after her wedding night,” Sansa says.

****

“And, he returned,” Jon reminds.

****

“With you.” Sansa manages a small smile.

****

“With me.” Jon smiles back to her.

****

They both laugh, and he can see her tension ease. Jon’s hand moves up to brush her cheek. His hand brushes a long strand of her red hair behind her shoulder.

****

“I can only imagine my mother’s anger,” Sansa says. “I wonder what she’d think if she were here right now.”

****

“She would be grateful that you survived,” Jon says. “And, she would be proud that you took back your family home.”

****

“You helped me,” Sansa says.

****

Jon turns and leans against the wooden railing so that he’s facing her at an angle. “You forget that I only helped because you asked me to.”

****

Sansa’s eyes cast downward, but he can still see the smile upon her face. Jon reaches out to brush another strand of hair behind her and rests his hand on her shoulder. It’s so easy to be close to her now that there are no longer secrets to keep.

****

“Your grace,” Lord Royce’s tone pulls him back to reality. “It is time.”

****

“Baelish’s trial…” Jon grimaces as that snake returns to his mind. Jon steps away from the railing and turns to face Lord Royce. “Have him brought to the Great Hall.”

****

“As you wish, your grace,” Lord Royce bows before leaving Jon and Sansa.

****

“I don’t want to see him,” Sansa says.

****

“I know you don’t,” Jon says. “We’ll get through this. It will be over before you know it. Soon enough the sun will rise for first light and he won’t even be here anymore.”

****

Jon takes Sansa’s arm in his. They walk side by side in silence as Jon guides her to the Great Hall. When they step inside, several lords have already arrived. Even Sam has decided to attend the trial. Jon keeps his arm linked with Sansa’s until they stand before the Lord’s Table. Jon releases Sansa. He pulls her chair out for her and waits for her to sit before taking his seat next to her.

****

Silence fills the room when Lord Royce arrives with Littlefinger in chains. Littlefinger steps towards the Lord’s Table. He stops and stares Jon down. Jon returns his stare with equal hatred.

****

“Lord Petyr Baelish,” Jon begins. “You stand accused of the murder of Lysa Arryn. You stand accused of conspiring and succeeding in the marriage of Lady Sansa Stark to Ramsay Bolton. How do you answer to these charges?”

****

“I did not murder Lysa Arryn,” Petyr Baelish begins. “And, Lady Stark’s marriage to Ramsay Bolton was her own choice. I am an innocent man.”

****

Jon’s fists ball together underneath the table. He wishes he could hit him across the jaw. He smoothers the flames of anger within him and tries to remain calm.

****

“Lord Baelish,” Jon leans forward. “Due to the insidious nature of your character, I cannot allow you to join the Night’s Watch. The safety of the Wall is crucial at this time and any missteps can be disastrous to the North. If you are tried, you are more than willing to call forth a champion to fight for you although I don’t imagine you’ll find one.”

****

“I don’t answer to you as my King,” Petyr Baelish states. “I am a subject of Tommen Baratheon. Is it even fair for you to try me?”

****

“Tommen is recently deceased,” Jon states. “Cersei has declared herself Queen. I’m not sure why she believes she has a claim to the House Baratheon. Her children weren’t sired by Robert Baratheon. I don’t see why I should send you to her to see justice for your crimes when she has no legitimate claim to try you for said crimes.”

****

Jon can sense Sansa’s growing anxiety. He finds Sansa’s hand underneath the table and takes her hand in his. Her hand trembles in his. Jon interlaces his fingers around hers. Her hand stills.

****

“You do not have proof of your claim,” Lord Baelish says. “Cersei Lannister was married to Robert Baratheon and the rumors of her children’s incestuous origins have no definite proof. It’s rich of you to make such accusations considering that you claim to be from House Targaryen. You do know that your grandfather married his sister, do you not? That is if you are telling the truth. If not, it would mean that you are betrothed to your half-sister.”

****

“Pardon my intrusion, Lord Baelish.” Everyone in the room turns to look back upon Sam who has risen to speak. “I have definite proof of his grace’s claim. If anyone wishes to see the written word of Jaehaerys Targaryen’s parentage and his legitimacy as Prince Rhaegar’s last heir, it would be my honor to share the information. That aside, I would like to also note that Aerys and Rhaella were married by a High Septon, Lord Baelish. Together they produced Rhaegar as an heir through this union just as Rhaegar and Lyanna produced an heir through a union I found in the information I uncovered at the Citadel. The King disputes Cersei’s claim not because her children were born of incest, but because they were not sired by Robert Baratheon who held his claim through right of conquest.”

****

There’s a proud look on Sam’s face as he looks to Baelish. Sam has always been far smarter than his father ever gave him credit for. He may not be able to swing a sword quite as well as his younger brother or his father, but Jon imagines he would do a far better job of running House Tarly than his father ever could.

****

Jon half grins when Baelish turns back to him. He thinks of all the emotional games Littlefinger has played. If Jon can play Mance Rayder for a fool, surely he can play Littlefinger too. “Thank you, Samwell Tarly. It appears that the late Lord Eddard Stark never dishonored Lady Catelyn Tully. This should put to rest the mere notion that Lord Eddard Stark betrayed his wife while away at war. I’m sure this is most disappointing for you to hear, Lord Baelish.”

****

Lord Baelish keeps his face neutral but Jon can only imagine the fury that lies beneath his facade. “I loved Lady Catelyn. In spite of my own feelings, it’s a relief to know that she was never dishonored by her lord husband. I only wish he had shared her the truth instead of hurting her with a lie.”

****

The audacity of this man has brought the raging fire within him to life once more. Jon stills himself. He must be a good king. He must be fair. He cannot be like his family. He must show the people that he will not fall to madness.

****

“We’re not gathered in this great hall to argue on the choices of a man that passed many moons ago.” Jon keeps a stern tone as he looks upon Lord Baelish. “Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn Stark have long since passed. I’m sure they made peace with their choices in the afterlife. We are gathered here today to bring justice to you for the crimes you committed against House Stark and House Arryn.”

****

“I did not murder Lysa Arryn,” Lord Baelish states. “She fell from the moon door. Lady Sansa has already confessed this.”

****

“Lady Stark,” Jon corrects. “She is the Lady of Winterfell now, Baelish.”

****

“My apologies, Lady Stark,” Littlefinger glances to Sansa. “Be reasonable and correct this madness. Tell these people that I was not at fault for Lysa Arryn’s death.”

****

“I have no reason to lie for you, Littlefinger.” Sansa’s hand tightens around Jon’s underneath the table. “You murdered my aunt. You pushed her from the moon door. You molested me in front of her to arouse her jealousies. You are the age of my mother and father. I never wanted you to touch me, but I suppose you knew there was nothing I could do to stop you.”

****

Sansa’s confession fuels the fire with him. His entire body is trembling with rage and it takes him everything not to march over to Littlefinger and cut his head clean off.

****

“You knew my aunt loved you, Littlefinger. You married her so that you could consolidate more power for yourself after you found a way to murder her,” Sansa continues. “You had me marry Ramsay Bolton for the same reason. I’m sure you knew the Bolton’s weren’t going to hold Winterfell for long, but maybe you thought you’d have Winterfell after Roose and Ramsay Bolton were dealt with. I’m so sorry to disappoint you, but it seems as if your plans weren’t quite as clever as you thought them to be.”

****

“It’s your word against mine, Lady Stark,” Baelish’s voice is still and even when he speaks. “You chose to marry Ramsay Bolton on your own accord.”

****

“Let me ask you a question?” Jon keeps his eyes on Baelish who stands unnatural calm across from him. “Why would Sansa even think to marry Ramsay Bolton? How would she even have the methods to correspond with the Boltons and travel to Winterfell to meet with them? Sansa Stark was a fugitive sought by the Lannisters for a crime she never committed. She could not feasibly travel alone to marry, Ramsay Bolton. Several testimonies of the men and women that live in this castle have stated that you brought her here.”

****

“Because she asked me too,” Lord Baelish replies. “This is her home.”

****

“So, she came to Winterfell to marry the son of the man that aided in the murder of her mother and her brother _because Winterfell is her home?_ ” Jon emphasizes the words of his statement. “I find that hard to believe.”

****

“She came to avenge her family,” Littlefinger argues.

****

“How? Through marriage?” Jon scoffs at Littlefinger. “Sansa Stark traveled to the Wall with Brienne of Tarth and Podrick Payne to free herself from that marriage. Her younger brother was tortured and murdered by the man she was married to. There was no way for her to find vengeance from being dishonored and abused. Your lies aren’t even comical. They’re just insulting. I’m not sure what I expected of you today, Lord Baelish, but I did expect better than the defense you just put forth.”

****

“You were never going to let me live,” Baelish states. “It’s in your blood to take what you feel is yours. _Fire & Blood_, is it? I imagine you plan to tie me to a stake and set me on fire when we’re done here.”

****

“No,” Jon shakes his head. He repeats _no_ in his mind as a silent warning to himself. He is not his grandfather. “I won’t burn you alive. I’ve seen a man burn by Stannis Baratheon’s command. I cannot condone an execution so brutal not even for you. _But,_ I do assure you, Lord Baelish, you will die today.”

****

“I have no champion to fight for me,” Lord Baelish states. “I hardly call that fair.”

****

“You can fight for yourself,” Sansa suggests.

****

Lord Baelish turns to Sansa. “And, who will fight against me?”

****

“I will,” Jon says almost instantly.

****

“It wouldn’t be a fair fight,” Lord Baelish argues.

****

“At this point, it might be best if you let the King lop off your head, treasonous snake!” Lyanna Mormont shouts.

****

“Off with his head!” Tormund shouts and thrusts his horn of ale into the air.

**  
**

Collective laughter erupts in the room before the lords and ladies fall silent once more. Jon’s hand releases from Sansa’s as he rises to his full height. “Petyr of House Baelish, I hereby charge you with treason against House Stark and House Arryn. I ask that if any of the lords and ladies contest the guilt of Petyr Baelish to speak forth now.”

****

The room is quiet as if it were filled with the Silent Sisters rather than lords. Jon glances back to Baelish. “You are set to be executed by nightfall, Lord Baelish.”

****

A pair of guards take Petyr Baelish from where he stands. There’s a look of panic that crosses his face. Jon glances down to Sansa. She smiles up to him and says, “This might be the first time Littlefinger hasn’t been able to lie his way out of facing consequences.”

****

* * *

 

The sun is setting. Jon walks with a garrison of men off the grounds of Winterfell with Lord Baelish in tow. He neglected to take Sansa with him. Ned Stark saw that his daughters never saw violence, and Sansa Stark has seen enough violence in her life. He will not subject her to seeing more if he can prevent it.

****

Tormund sets down a wooden block and grins at Jon. Tormund will enjoy this. Jon thinks he will too until Tormund shoves Baelish’s face onto the block. Jon looks into Baelish’s pathetic eyes, and he feels an emptiness. This does not bring him joy. It just makes him feel cold.

****

Jon draws his blade of Valyrian steel and holds it to Baelish’s neck. Ned Stark had told him that those who pass a sentence must swing the sword. Jon looks into Baelish’s eyes. It’s so easy to bring his sword upward and send it back down to cleave Littlefinger’s head clean off. When Jon looks down to see the head severed from Littlefinger’s body, a cold feeling bites hard within him. It doesn’t feel quite as horrible as when he executed the men of the Night’s Watch that betrayed him, but it doesn’t make him feel happy or powerful. He just feels numb. There was a time when killing hurt Jon deeply. This doesn’t hurt him. He just feels nothing.

****

“Does anyone else notice that it’s oddly quiet without his yapping?” Tormund jests.

****

Jon can’t help but smile. “He’s a dead man. Dead men cannot spend their tales to the living. Bury him on these grounds. He has no one left that cares enough to send for a proper burial.”

****

Jon sheaths Longclaw and turns back to look upon Winterfell. He tries to imagine what Dragonstone might look like. He frowns. He already knows that it will never feel like a home to him. _My home is with Sansa,_ Jon thinks to himself. The sun falls and darkness takes the sky.

****

_The night is dark and full of terrors,_ Melisandre would so often say. There are terrors behind the wall and the only way to keep them at bay is to sail to Dragonstone. The war to the south must wait. The Night King is his first priority.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam pulling out the receipts on Baelish is everything. 
> 
> Also, Jon and Sansa get married next chapter.


	14. Sansa VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delayed update. This chapter got pretty long and I made several edits to it before posting. I wanted to get it just right. I have noticed that a lot of the shipping drama has died down a bit now that the finale has been over for a while now. I've been getting less spiteful comments from that ship so that's always a plus. 
> 
> But, thank you all most of all for all the support you've given this fic. It really means so much to me to hear from you all, and to know that there are people that actually follow this fic. I love hearing from all of you, and the output for my last update before this one was so amazing and unexpected. Thank you again.

_How much longer?_ Sansa had always imagined the ride to King’s Landing would take time, but the King’s Road seems so endless. She’s tries to envision what the Red Keep might look like, and oddly enough, she can see it in perfect detail as if she’d already lived there. _Father_. Sansa glances around the carriage in search for him, but all she sees is Arya sitting before her. Arya is leaning her elbow against the window and seems to be gazing off into nothingness. Her brown hair is a mess as it always is. Sansa thinks to scold her, but she can’t because all she feels is sorrow. It’s as if she truly misses Arya, but how can she miss her if she is here before her?

****

The carriage slows to a stop. _This is not right_ , Sansa thinks to herself. _None of this is right._ The door opens and Sansa expects to see her father. She calls out to him at the top of her lungs. Arya’s grey eyes focus on her and there’s a grave look that spreads across her features. “Father isn’t here.”

****

Panic spreads through her. _What about her prince?_ She was supposed to marry Joffrey and give him an heir. “Where is my Joff? Arya! Where is he!”

****

Arya scoffs. “I don’t know where stupid Joffrey is. Find him yourself.”

****

Lady leaps into the carriage followed by a crow that flutters in. Sansa notices the blood stains on Lady’s main. _Had someone hurt her wolf?_ Sansa reaches out to Lady, but she darts away from her and leaps outside the carriage. 

****

“Where is Joffr—!” 

****

“ _Snow! Snow! Snow!_ ” the crow caws before she can even finish Joffrey’s name.

****

She can’t bear the sound of the screeching crow any longer. Sansa covers her ears and darts out the carriage. She slips on ice and falls on her back into a thick layer of snow. The crow circles on top of her still screeching _“Snow! Snow! Snow!_ ” Sansa’s gaze turns to the side to see Joffrey staring back at her, throat slashed, lips purple and green eyes lifeless.

****

“My lady, the Queen wishes to see you.”

****

Sansa glances upward to see Septa Mordane standing over her. She rises to her feet and brushes flakes of snow off her dress. Sansa reaches out and takes Septa Mordane’s hands in hers. She looks upon the woman to see her in a gown of all red rather than her gown of grey. Her grey hair is free and waves in the cold winter wind. _This is not right_ , Sansa thinks to herself. _Something is wrong._

****

Arya darts ahead of her with a sword strapped to her belt. She stops and turns back to Sansa. Arya beckons her with her hand. “Sansa, we must tell the Queen that Joffrey attacked the butcher’s boy!”

****

“The queen won’t believe me.” Sansa is unsure why she says those words. Queen Cersei had been kind to her at Winterfell, hadn’t she?

****

“The Queen will believe you! I promises!” Arya shouts back to her and runs off into the woods.

****

Septa Mordane leads Sansa through the snowy woods. It looks so familiar, but _no, it cannot be!_ The Godswood is in Winterfell. It shouldn’t be on the King’s Road. A woman stands alone in the Godswood before the heart tree with a crown of blue roses upon her head. Arya is standing before her. This is not the queen. The Queen has Lannister blonde hair and green eyes. This woman looks like a Stark.

****

“Arya, where are we?” Sansa's knees are shaking. 

****

“Home,” is all Arya says in response. 

****

“My lady, it is time,” her Septa says dutifully.

****

“I shouldn’t be here. I’m to marry the prince,” Sansa insists. “Father had promised me.”

****

“No, my sweet child,” the Queen’s grey eyes meet hers. “You are to marry the king.”

****

* * *

 

Sansa’s eyes snap open as she sits up in her bed. Her hands clutch the sides of her head as she gasps for air. Sansa’s eyes glance down at the furs that cover her legs. She feels so small and alone in her mother and father’s bed. She wants Jon to be here with her like he had been when she shared a room with him at the Wall. That’s when she remembers. It is the day that she is to be married. She will share her bed with Jon for only a night. Then, he will be off to Dragonstone.

****

Sansa doesn’t like the idea of Jon leaving. The south is dangerous. There’s this fear that he may never return like her grandfather and Brandon Stark. Sansa wraps her arms tightly around herself. 

****

Weddings have always held a semblance of doom about them. Sansa’s first wedding was forced upon her by the Lannisters. The second wedding she saw as a guest. Joffrey had died and she had fled from King’s Landing. Sansa still recalls being absolutely miserable the whole time as Margaery paraded around with her new husband who was also her tormentor. Then, there was her uncle’s wedding to the Frey girl that ended in her brother and mother’s death. Then, there was her wedding night with Ramsay. Sansa’s entire body becomes numb as a chill spreads through her. She snaps her mind shut and tries to force the memories from her mind.

 

Today is her wedding day and the only wedding day that she chose for herself at that. She should be happy rather than wrought with anxiety. 

****

A deep breath escapes her as she glances out her window. It is first light. She had not expected to be up quite so early, but her dream had stirred her. Sansa’s mind latches on to the images of her dream, but it all seems to slowly slip away from her. She was going to marry a king. Ayra was there and Septa Mordane too. The rest of the dream seems blurred as if a thick fog has distorted them. Sansa isn’t sure whether it’s best that she hardly remembers her dream or not.

****

Sansa tosses her furs to the side and swings her legs over the edge of the bed. She rubs her temples to soothe her mind. Sansa drops her hands to her side. There’s a knocking on her door. Sansa rises to her seat and throws a robe of blue velvet over herself. She opens her door to see a trio of handmaidens waiting on the other side. They all courtesy in unison.

****

“Good morning, my lady,” a brown-haired lady says. Her brown eyes glance up to her, and Sansa thinks to Jeyne Poole. She wonders if her dear friend even lives today. Sansa can’t imagine that she does. 

****

Sansa stands aside to let her handmaidens into her room. Her wedding to Jon truly is happening. She goes to her window and looks out to the falling winter snow. _Snow, snow, snow…_ she remembers the crow from her dream. Jon was once called _Snow_. That mere thought brings a smile to her face.

****

“My lady, your bath has been prepared,” one of her handmaidens calls to her. “We must be quick before the water chills.”

****

Sansa stares out the window at the falling snow. She was made a Lannister, then a Bolton, and now she is to be a Targaryen. Sansa turns away from the window. She was born into this world a Stark, and even when she takes Jon’s hand, she will always be her father’s daughter. House Stark will live on through her children, and maybe Bran and Arya too if they are still alive. Sansa steps away from the window and goes to her handmaidens. She’s not afraid to get married today like she had been in the past. Jon will be brave, and gentle, and kind like her father wanted for her. It would seem that the Gods made that match for her in her father’s place.

****

* * *

 

The dress made for her is white with red Weirwood leaves sewn all the way down the dress train. A thick fur shawl covers Sansa's arms and shoulders. Her handmaiden pins the shawl with a silver sigil of a direwolf that represents House Stark. Sansa glances into her mirror one last time. Her red hair braided like her mother’s just as Sansa had asked.

****

The ladies lead her outside of her room. Sansa moves through the hall in search for Lord Reed. The Red Witch stands at the end of the hallway. Sansa slows her step to an abrupt halt. Melisandre's red eyes look to her.

****

“My lady,” her voice sends a chill down her spine. “ _It is time._ ”

****

The Red Woman’s eyes bore into her for what feels like an eternity. The jewel on her throat glows a deep red. When Melisandre leaves her, Sansa feels as if all the air has been sucked from her lungs. She places a hand on her heart. 

****

“Lady Stark,” Lord Reed’s voice calls from behind her. 

****

Sansa swallows the lump in her throat. She dislikes that woman and she cannot understand why she does. She drops her hand to her side and turns to face Howland Reed.

****

“You're pale,” he comments. “Are you unwell?”

****

“I am well,” Sansa reassures. 

****

Lord Reed takes her arm in his. Sansa had always imagined the day she was married that her father would escort her out to the Godswood. Her heart tinges with sorrow. Lord Reed was her father’s loyal friend. He is the closest she’ll ever get to her father now.

****

Sansa has walked this same path before through Winterfell when she was married to Ramsay. Theon had been the one to lead her through the Godswood. Sansa smiles a sad smile. She can only hope that Theon has found safety wherever he may be.

****

Torches light her way down the path. She recognizes all the ladies and lords gathered down their path. Brienne stands with Podrick by her side. Even Samwell Tarly and Tormund Giantsbane have gathered to witness her marriage. Sansa sees Jon standing with his back to her. His black long coat stops at his knees, a red cloak is draped over his right shoulder. It looks so very southern, but also heavy enough to be worn in the winter. Jon doesn’t look quite like Jon. She’s so used to him wearing winter furs. He turns to look back to her, and when his dark grey eyes meet hers, she’s reminded that Jon is still Jon even if they dress him up in Targaryen clothes.

****

There’s a slight pause as Jon's eyes glance over to her. A light smile flickers across his lips when he asks, “Who comes before the Gods?”

****

“Sansa of House Stark, daughter of the late Lord Eddard Stark and the Lady Catelyn Tully,” Lord Reed states. “Who comes to claim her?”

****

“Jaehaerys of House Targaryen, third of my name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.” Jon smiles a little as if he finds humor in his birth name and all of his titles. “I claim her. Who gives her?”

****

“Howland of House Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch, and loyal bannerman of our fallen Lord Eddard Stark.” Lord Reed turns to Sansa. “Lady Sansa Stark, will you take this man?”

****

“I take this man.” Sansa steps forward and takes Jon’s hand in hers.

****

Sansa and Jon kneel before the heart tree. When Sansa had married Ramsay, she was too lost to even ask the Gods for anything. Her eyes shut. She remembers seeing Arya in her dream darting through the snow. She asks the Gods for Arya to be returned to her and Bran too if they are still live. She prays that Jon will return to her from Dragonstone safely. She prays that the Gods will protect them from all those that try to harm them.

****

Sansa’s eyes snap open. She looks to the heart tree, staring directly into its eyes. She wonders if anyone is staring back. Sansa and Jon both rise to their feet in unison. Jon unpins her cloak from her shoulders, a chill runs through her as the winter wind pieces the cloth of her dress. When Jon wraps his cloak around her, Sansa is thankful for the black fur stitched within Jon’s cloak that warms her.

****

Jon draws her close to him and places a chaste kiss on her lips. He parts from her and lifts her into his arms. Sansa rests her head on his shoulder. Her right hand clings to the cloth of Jon’s coat. She nestles her head against him like Lady had nestled into her so many moons ago. Jon kisses the top of her head and a warm feeling spreads through her. Jon won’t hurt her. Jon is gentle and good.

****

Jon carries her into the Great Hall and does not set her down until they reach the dais. He sets Sansa to her feet and pulls her chair out for her. Sansa sits down and Jon places another kiss on top of her head. Jon sits next to her, and when he smiles, it’s that innocent boyish smile he used to smile in his youth. 

****

Sansa glances to him and smiles. His eyes flicker over hers before they flicker away. A teasing smile forms on Sansa’s lips. “What?”

****

“It’s nothing,” Jon says.

****

“What is it?” she asks.

****

“I was just thinking about how beautiful you are.” Jon blushes when he speaks.

****

Sansa is about to speak but Tormund’s booming through the room interrupts her. “All hail Jon Snow! The crow that came back from the dead and became king!”

****

Tormund walks up to the dais and stops before the Lord’s Table. He takes a long sip of ale from his horn and looks down to Sansa. His eyes study her as he lowers his horn from his lips. He half grins and looks to Jon.

****

“You got a taste for fire, Jon?” Tormund is grinning from ear to ear. 

****

“What are you talking about?” Jon laughs a little.

****

“Your last woman had red hair,” Tormund reminds. 

****

Jon’s gaze breaks away from Tormund and he shifts uncomfortably in his chair. He glances off into the distance as if he wants to avoid the conversation entirely. Brienne walks towards the Lord’s Table and sends Tormund a cold stare.

****

“My Queen,” Lady Brienne bows to her rather than curtsies. “It has been an honor to serve you. Your lady mother would have loved to see you married to a man such as his grace, Jaehaerys Targaryen.”

****

Jon coughs into his hand before dissolving into a coughing fit. He leans back into his seat. It would appear her mother never disclosed how she felt about Jon to Brienne. Sansa glances back to Brienne and manages a smile. “I’m sure she would be honored to be here today if she were still with us. Thank you, Lady Brienne.”

****

Brienne bows to her before taking her leave. Tormund’s eyes seem to follow Brienne. He grins and turns back to Jon. There’s this look of awe that crosses his features before he says, “I’ve never seen a woman quite like her.”

****

Tormund follows after Brienne. Sansa can’t help but laugh. It’s so hopeless. Tormund is head over heels but Brienne doesn’t seem to care. 

****

A servant pours Sansa’s glass before Jon’s. Sansa thanks the servant before he bows and leaves them. Sansa and Jon take their wine glasses together. All eyes fall onto them and the run quiets. Jon’s eyes seem to focus on the table that Brienne and Tormund are sitting at.

****

“To Lady Brienne of Tarth,” Jon raises his glass. “Without you, I would not be sitting next to my queen today.”

****

Brienne bows her head to Jon as a show of respect before the entire room raises their glasses and cheer for her. Podrick smiles to Brienne and places his hand on her shoulder in a show of support. Sansa brings her wine glass to her lips and sips. If anyone deserves praise in this room, it is Lady Brienne for saving her life. Sansa sets her wine glass before her. 

****

Sansa glances around her to all the guests. A part of her believes that this isn’t real—that this is a vivid dream and she’ll wake up next to Ramsay or even that she’ll wake up for Cersei to torment. She glances over to Jon. A bright smile is on his lips rather than the brooding gaze she’s become so familiar with. Her chest swells knowing that he’s as happy as she is.

****

Samwell Tarly of the Night’s Watch steps forward with Gilly cradling Little Sam in her arms. _Is the baby a Tarly bastard?_ Sansa often wonders but finds it rude to ask. Sam does a nervous sort of bow to Jon. Gilly glances over to Sam and does a small bow as well.

****

“You curtsy rather than bow,” Sam informs.

****

“Curtsy?” Gilly asks. “Is that like a bow?”

****

“It is, but it isn’t,” Sam says. “I’ll explain later.”

****

Sam shifts uneasily on his feet and turns back to Jon. “When I first met you at the Watch, this is not what I expected. I thought we’d grow old at the Wall.”

****

“I could pardon you, Sam,” Jon offers. 

****

Sam grimaces. “I don’t think my father would like that much, and with Queen Margaery and her family's death at the Sept, you have the opportunity to gain the support of the Reach. My father would advise Lady Olenna Tyrell against your favor if you pardon me.”

****

“When the fighting is over, then.” Jon glances up to Sam with a look of promise in his eyes.

****

Sam glances to Gilly. There’s a small smile that crosses his lips, but dissolves almost instantly. “I don’t think my father would want me back at home. But, thank you, Jon. I do have a favor to ask.”

****

“Anything,” Jon says.

****

“My father refused to foster Gilly and her baby at Hornhill,” Sam says. “If you could foster her at Winterfell, I would be forever grateful.”

****

“Gilly will always have a home here,” Jon promises.

****

“This means everything to me.” Sam’s smile returns to his face. “Thank you, Jon.”

****

Gilly bows her head to Jon. “Thank you, your grace. You are very kind.”

****

Sam and Gilly walk side by side back to their table. Sansa glances to Jon. “Is the child Samwell Tarly’s bastard?”

****

“It’s a sadder story than that, unfortunately.” There’s a look that crosses Jon’s dark grey eyes and Sansa isn’t sure if she should ask for the truth.

****

The Red Woman walks toward their table, her red robes swaying as she approaches them. Her red eyes look to Sansa. A chill runs down her spine as she remembers the Red Woman’s words to her. _It is time_ echoes through her head, but in Septa Mordane’s voice rather than Melisandre’s. Her red eyes glance over to Jon. Melisandre does not bow or curtesy. She stands perfectly tall as if she herself is royalty.

****

“The Lord of Light has honored this union,” she says. “I had gazed in the fire and I have seen many things.”

****

“What did you see?” Sansa asks.

****

“A storm coming from the east,” Melisandre says. “ _A threat._ You must both be prepared for enemies from the south, the north, and _the east_.”

****

Sansa cannot perceive who in the Free Cities would harbor any ill will towards the Starks. “The Starks don’t have enemies in the Free Cities.”

****

“I only speak what I see.” Melisandre’s deep red eyes glance down to her. 

****

“Whatever enemies we may have, we will deal with when they come,” Jon speaks. 

****

“I saw you in the fire as well,” Melisandre says. “You were flying.”

****

Sansa sips her wine from her glass. This woman apparently brought Jon back from the dead. She cannot discredit her completely, but still, this talk of storms from the east and Jon flying sounds too far fetched to be taken to heart. Sansa could almost laugh.

****

“I could fly...” Jon smiles. “In my dreams, perhaps. I am not a dragon truly, Melisandre. I am only a man.”

****

“I only speak what I saw,” Melisandre states. "The long night is ahead of us. The night is dark and full of terrors. We must all prepare wisely for what is to come.'

****

Her glance falls onto Jon before she turns and walks away. Sansa sips more wine, her eyes still on the Red Woman. She leans closer to Jon and asks, “How did you come across her?”

****

“She used to follow Stannis Baratheon. She claimed that he was the Azor Ahai,” Jon replies.

****

“It would seem she was wrong,” Sansa states.

****

“So it would seem,” Jon agrees.

****

Servants serve their supper. Sansa sips her wine, and after two glasses, she doesn’t even know how much time has passed. Sansa doesn’t want to sit in silence while music plays. She remembers how much she loved to dance as a child. She rises from where she sits and takes Jon’s hand in hers.

****

“Dance with me,” she says to Jon in a soft whisper.

****

Sansa tugs at Jon’s hand and leads him off the dais and onto the floor. Jon places one hand on her hip and takes her hand in his. His dark eyes cast downward and he says, “I must warn you I’m not very good at this. I’ll probably make a fool of us both.”

****

“You won’t,” Sansa reassures. “Dance with me, Jon.”

****

Jon’s steps are wrong, but it doesn’t matter to her. She leans her head against him and sways in time with the music. His dancing steps might be completely out of place, but she’s just happy to be safe in his arms. She wants to be closer to him. Her eyes close as she leans into him. The piece of her that feels so broken wonders if she can get _closer_. Ramsay looms in the back of her mind. She fights his memory. Ramsay is dead now just like Joffrey and Littlefinger. Sansa tells herself that they can’t hurt her, but somehow they still do. She wonders when she will ever be that girl she once was. She _never_ will. That realization cuts through her like a blade of Valyrian steel.

****

There’s a part of her that thinks more wine will ease her, but Cersei had drank quite a bit and wine never seemed to do her any favors. Sansa looks into Jon’s eyes and she feels safe again. Her tension eases as she sways with him to the music. He’s the only man she's truly has ever wanted to give herself to. She was too young to really think about it with Joffrey, and by the time Sansa had come of age, she was terrified of the horrible men that always seemed to court her.

****

The music slows to a stop. Jon stops and meets Sansa’s gaze. It's as if he’s drowning in her eyes. There’s a lingering fear in the back of her mind that conflicts with the desire to be with Jon. Sansa leans into Jon and wraps both arms around him as if being close to him can shield her from her fears. His arms wrap around her waist and her fears seem so far behind her.

****

“We should go,” is all Sansa can manage to whisper. She breaks away from him and looks into his eyes. There’s this silent understanding between the both of them. Jon takes her hand in hiss and whisks her away from the Great Hall as silently as they both can manage. A chill hits Sansa when she leaves the hall. She regrets leaving her cloak on her chair. When they make it to the Great Keep, the heat resonating between the granite walls hits her immediately. 

****

They make it to the Lord’s Chamber, managing to avoid the attention other than the eyes of servants and guards. The door clicks shut and Sansa turns to face Jon. She turns away from him sharply and wraps her arms around herself. She’s never really opened herself to someone else—not truly—but apparently Jon has if Tormund’s words are to be taken seriously.

****

Jon’s fingers touch her shoulders. Sansa relaxes her arms to her sides and shuts her eyes. She reminds herself that it is ill luck to sleep apart on one’s wedding night. She’s not sure where she heard that from—perhaps her Septa or maybe Cersei even. She can’t remember. So much had happened so fast in King’s Landing, and that was so long ago now.

****

Sansa closes her eyes and breathes before her eyes flicker open once more. _Jon is Jon._ He’s not Joffrey, Ramsay or even Littlefinger, and they are all dead now. They can only haunt her in her thoughts now. 

****

Jon’s fingers run through her hair, unbraiding each braid one by one until her hair falls freely down her back. Jon brushed her hair over to one side. Sansa shivers at the contact of his lips against the skin of her neck. She raises her left hand to run her hand in his thick hair. She pulls away from him and turns to face him. Her blue eyes meet his dark eyes and she can no longer fight what’s between them.

****

Jon wraps his arms around her waist and draws her to him. His lips seized hers, his tongue tracing over her lower lip as he draws her closer to him. Sansa shuts her eyes and parts her lips in a gasp. His tongue slides inside her mouth as if to taste every bit of her. Sansa shivers in his embrace. No one before Jon has kissed her like this. Sansa presses her hands against his chest and digs her fingers into his coat to draw him closer. 

****

Jon pulls away and turns her around. His fingers rest on her shoulders once more. Sansa breathes. _Jon is Jon_. He won’t hurt her. Jon’s fingers unlace the back of her dress, allowing the material to fall to the floor. Sansa kicks out of her boots before she turns around to face Jon. She takes in a tight, shallow breath. She lifts her shifts over her head and removes her small clothes. She stands straight and looks to him, waiting for something to break between them. Jon touches her right arm as his eyes look down on her naked form. He scoops her into his arms and carries her to her bed. When he lays her down onto the bed, a chill runs through her. Sansa raises her hand and to brush a black curl away from his face. She tries to imagine a world where Jon has purple eyes and silver hair. Sansa smiles. She’s glad that he takes after his mother. 

****

Jon’s dark eyes hold her stare for a second longer before he leans down and places his lips on hers. Sansa wraps her arms around his neck to draw him closer. It’s as if she’s living in a void where only her and Jon exist.  If her and Jon were the last two people in the world, she would never feel alone. Sansa nips at his lower lip lightly. His tongue touches hers, tasting her as his breath becomes heavier. His hands run along the outside of her thigh before sliding up her side to cup her left breast in his hands. 

****

Heat builds within thighs, something she hasn’t quite felt before now. Sansa gasps when Jon pulls away and kisses down her neck and stops at her chest. His tongue traces along her right nipple causing another gasp to escape her. _This is what it’s like to be loved_ , she thinks to herself. It doesn’t hurt to be touched. The pain in her heart that she felt with so many other men is far behind her. Sansa shuts her eyes and whispers Jon’s name. Jon kisses down her stomach till he reaches between her thighs. Sansa’s eyes flutter open when he parts her legs. _Is he really…?_ His tongue touches this spot that makes all her thoughts scatter. Sansa bites her lower lip to suppress the sharp cry that threatens to escape her. His tongue works against her in circular motions, making her cry out. _How can he be so good at this?_ One hand flies up to shield her eyes as her other hand digs into the bedding beneath her.

****

“ _Jon_ …” she whispers his name in a soft plea. “Jon please…”

****

Sansa's back arches as a sharp feeling runs through her. He replaces his tongue with his thumb and crawls on top of her. Sansa writhes and whimpers underneath him. She’s close to _something_. Sansa’s eyes shut. It’s as if her entire body bursts into flames. She spasms before she comes apart underneath him. When she opens her eyes, a haze seems to have fallen over her. Her eyes lock with Jon’s. She wants him. She wants _all_ of him. 

****

Sansa’s fingers dig into the material of his long coat to draw him closer. His hands make quick work of his belt and he throws it to the left side of the bed carelessly. Sansa’s fingers move up his coat, removing clasp after clasp. She paws at his coat as if she were a starving wolf. Jon shrugs out of the coat and throws it off the side of the bed. He lifts his tunic over his head, revealing all of his scars to her. Sansa reaches out to touch the scar across his heart. She could almost ask herself how he could possibly survive it, but she already knows the cold truth. He didn’t survive. He’s here because Melisandre brought him back.

****

“You came back from all this?” Sansa looks him in the eyes. “ _Why…?_ I don’t think I would want to come back after…”

****

Sansa's voice chokes as she seems to lose her words. 

****

“You,” he answers. “I had to come back for you. I _saw_ you, and I knew I needed to come back and protect you.”

****

Those words stir something within her. Sansa sits up and straddles his lap. She wraps her arms around him and clings to him as their lips meet. Her left hand finds itself in his hair as she nips at his lip. Her hands release him and slip between them to unlace his pants. In her youth, she hardly ever thought what it might be like to be this close to the husband that she’d one day marry. She could have never imagined that it would make her burn with a need that she can’t quite understand. Her fingers shake and a sense of nervousness comes over her. Jon reaches his hands reach between them, placing the tip of his cock between her legs. Sansa wraps her arms around his shoulder as she lowers herself onto him. Her breath hitches in her throat and she nestles herself into his neck.

****

One hand touches Sansa’s back to steady her as Jon moves against her. A gasp escapes her as her eyes flutter shut. She rocks her hips against him, trying to create this friction that seems to build inside of her. His name escapes her lips in a soft whisper. She draws herself closer to him and sneaks a small kiss against his neck. Jon holds her close to him before laying her down on the bed. His fingers reach between them, finding that spot that made her fall apart underneath him only moments ago. Sansa rocks her hips against his thrusts, trying to reach that _place_ where she had lost herself to him. 

****

“My sweet Sansa,” Jon says in a sharp whisper. “Gods...you feel so good…”

****

It’s as if every piece of her shatters at once. _Jon_.. _.Gods...please,_ she doesn’t know exactly what she had said first or how she said those words. He rides her until he finds that same release inside of her. Jon heaves heavy breaths on top of her before rolling off to the side. Sansa curls into him, allowing her head to rest on his chest. Her heart warms when he draws her closer to him.

****

A sliver of panic runs through her when she thinks what tomorrow will bring. Tomorrow night she will once again sleep alone in this bed. She fears that Cersei might discover that he’s on Dragonstone. She fears that Jon might be a captive as she once was.

****

“I don’t want you to leave,” Sansa vocalizes her anxieties.

****

“I don’t want to leave either,” Jon says.

****

“Then stay,” Sansa says. “You don’t have to go.”

****

“I wish that were true,” Jon says. “But, I have to.”

****

Sansa nestles closer to him. This Night King and his army seem to be on Jon's mind more than often than not. She tries to imagine what Jon had seen beyond the wall, but she can’t seem to picture anything other than a decaying creature with a crown. It seems like one of Old Nan’s tales, but the Wildlings seem to believe in this undead army. So, it must be real.

****

“Just…” Sansa pauses. “Please don’t stay there long.”

****

“I won’t be gone for long,” he promises. “I will be back here before you get a chance to miss me.”

****

Jon places a kiss on top of her head. She wishes his last words were true, but she knows that when the gates to Winterfell close, she’ll already be missing him. _Gods_ , she can only pray that he will be returned to her safely. He doesn’t know how dangerous the south can be.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon saying he's not a dragon and saying that he's just a man was purposely placed in there to contrast how Viserys and Daenerys pushing that they are "the blood of the dragon" and propping themselves up. 
> 
> And, yay for Sansa finally getting the love she deserves!


	15. Arya I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I apologize for the delay! Life got crazy in between a vacation and working extra hours for school. I also needed a huge break from the fandom discourse which is still alive and worse than its ever been. I'm at the point where I'm only going to participate with my fic writing, because the butthurt Daenerys fans' tantrums are too damn much. 
> 
> This chapter is going to be a little bit different, because it's a buffer into the next phase of the story. I hope you enjoy!

Time seemed to pass in a blur, but Arya is used to that. She has grown taller since leaving King’s Landing—albeit not by very much—and yet she still feels like that little girl that she once was. Sometimes she still feels like that eleven-year-old girl, but she also sometimes feels like she’s sixty years old. Time either feels too short or too long. 

 

Arya gazes up through the trees as she rides along a path through the forest. She had stolen her horse from the Lannister soldiers after they had fallen asleep. Arya brushes her gloved hand against the horse's neck. She can still see Nymeria baring her teeth. Her wolf has grown so large, but has also become feral. Arya wonders if she has become feral herself.

 

The horse trots down the path. She could kill Cersei. Arya tries to remember the Queen. She remembers her eyes of wildfire green and that long golden mane of hair. The facial features are a distant blur. She tries to remember what father looked like, and a tinge of sadness feels her heart. She fears that she might forget the color of his eyes and the sound of his voice. Maybe she’ll forget Winterfell and the rest of the Starks. Maybe she’ll forget who she is entirely. Then, she’ll become that feral wolf she that Nymeria had become.

 

It should make her cry—the loss of her family, but her eyes are dry as the deserts in Dorne. She doesn’t want to cry, because it would make her look weak and stupid. Still, when her hands touch the hilt of needle and she thinks of Jon at the wall, her eyes sting and tears almost form. Needle isn’t just Jon though. Needle is Winterfell and the Starks. Needle is the last piece of her past that she can’t let go of.

 

_“I’m going to kill the queen.”_

 

Arya remembers how sure her voice was when she had said her promise to the Lannister soldiers. They had laughed in unison as if it were a mere joke. But, Arya is serious. She’s as serious about taking down Cersei as she was about taking down House Frey. She thinks back to the Twins. She thought the taste of revenge would bring her joy, but she still feels so empty. 

 

Arya thinks of Robb and her Lady Mother. Robb would have tried to put on a brave face, but her poor mother must have felt so devastated in her last moments. It isn’t fair. Father, mother, and her brothers—they all died such horrible deaths. Jon and Sansa are all that are left now. 

 

_“Long live Jaehaerys!”_

 

_“Long may he reign!”_

 

Arya slows her horse to see a trio of Northmen dressed in Northern furs. Do they jest or have they forgotten what time they exist in? The Targaryens are dead. The Lannisters control the realm now, and they will continue to do so as long as the Queen lives. The Northmen glance up to Arya. Arya throws her left leg over her saddle and hops off her horse.

 

“You’re Northmen?” she asks. “You don’t serve the Lannisters?”

 

“Fuck the Lannisters!” a man with a long brown beard shouts.

 

“We serve Jaehaerys Targaryen, the rightful king!” the youngest of them shouts. Arya glances into his blue eyes. He looks just as young as she is.

 

“There isn’t a King Jaehaerys, stupid!” Arya says. “There is only one Targaryen left and she’s all the way across the Narrow Sea.”

 

“You’re from there?” the bearded man asks.

 

“Yes,” Arya lies quickly. “Yes, I’m from Bravos.”

 

“You don’t know, then?” the youngest of them looks up at her with his bright blue eyes and all Arya can think of is Robb. “King Jaehaerys...Jon Snow.”

 

They can’t be talking of her brother, Jon. It has to be another bastard of the North with the name Jon. Arya straightens her shoulders. “Jon Snow lives at the Wall.”

 

“You sure know a lot for a girl from Bravos,” the bearded one remarks.

 

“I know a few things,” Arya says. “I know a man of the Night’s Watch cannot be King.”

 

“You’re wrong!” the youngest one insists. “Jon Snow is the true heir to the throne.”

 

“Don’t be so stupid. A bastard can’t be a King,” Arya says.

 

“Jon Snow isn’t a bastard,” the bearded one says. “He’s the son of Prince Rheagar and Lyanna Stark. He holds Winterfell with his Lady Wife Sansa Stark.”

 

Arya bursts out into laughter. She had almost believed them. “Men will believe anything they’re told.”

 

She huffs off and hops back on her horse. She rides off as fast as she can. She can hear the younger one shout “All hail Jaehaerys and his sweet wife Sansa!”

 

Jon and Sansa rarely spoke to one another as children. They had nothing in common. There’s no way they would have married each other. That and Sansa is already wed to Tyrion Lannister. Or is it Ramsay Bolton now? The gossip seems to change with each fortnight. Clearly, she just ran into some drunk smallfolk. _Jon can’t be King_. Arya remembers her mother’s disdain toward Jon. Mother made it clear that a bastard was nothing more than a bastard with her cold looks and sharp words.

 

Arya’s heart burns. She had hoped if even for a second that the smallfolks' little fairytale was true. She thinks of Winterfell. How sweet it would be just to sit in the Great Hall and sup with Jon and even Sansa. Maybe Sansa would let Jon sit at the Lord's Table. Arya tries to think about how much she and Sansa fought, but that was so long ago and doesn’t matter anymore. Surely, Sansa would welcome Jon with open arms after the Lannisters and the Freys butchered the rest of her family.

 

The forest seems to have faded and is replaced by buildings. Arya steers her horse through the town until she reaches an inn. She hops off her horse and ties it to a log. Her hand grazes needle and she thinks of Jon again. She wishes she never crossed path with those stupid men. 

 

Arya darts up a flight of steps and enters the inn. She sits at a table and stares off into nothingness. She doesn’t know why she’s here. It would be just as easy to sleep in the woods. Comfort doesn’t mean anything to her anymore—not since she lost everything.

 

“Arry!”

 

Arya’s pupils dilate as her chest constricts at the sound of her false name. She relaxes once she sees Hot Pie walking toward her with a tray of bread. He sets the bread in front of her and Arya’s stomach growls at the sight of food. She reaches forward and grabs a roll. Arya doesn’t hesitate to take a bite. 

 

“I wasn’t even sure if you were alive anymore,” Hot Pie says.

 

Arya chews the piece of bread in her mouth and swallows. She looks up at Hot Pie and says, “Well, I’m alive.”

 

Arya grabs a cup from Hot Pie’s tray and pours herself a mug of ale. She looks up to Hot Pie. When she first heard the name _Arry_ , she had hoped it was Gendry. She feels so selfish for hoping. She should be grateful that Hot Pie remembers hers.

 

“Where are you headed?” Hot Pie asks.

 

“King’s Landing,” Arya replies.

 

“I thought you’d be heading North,” Hot Pie says.

 

“Why would I go there? The Boltons have it.”

 

“No.” Hot Pie shakes his head. “The Bolton’s are dead.”

 

It takes Arya a second to process Hot Pie’s words. “What?”

 

“Jon Snow came down from the Wall with a Wildling Army and won the Battle of the Bastard,” Hot Pie answers. “Jon Snow isn’t your brother, Arya. He is the son of your Aunt Lyanna and Prince Rhaegar. He's the heir to the Iron Throne."

 

The Northmen in the forest were telling the truth. When Arya speaks, she says her words for herself rather than for Hot Pie. “My brother Jon is Jaehaerys Targaryen…”

 

“Yes,” Hot Pie answers.

 

“And, he married my sister, Sansa Stark?” 

 

“Yes,” Hot Pie confirms. “Arya, you can go home. You can be with your family.”

 

Arya grabs her coin purse and rises from where she sits. “Thanks for the food.”

 

She reaches into her coin purse, but Hot Pie raises her hand to stop her. “Friends don’t pay.”

 

Arya sucks in a deep breath and mutters, “Thanks.”

 

Her feet carry her through the room and back out of the inn. The sun has fallen from the sky and stars hover above her. Arya sees a shooting star tun through the sky. She sucks in breath after breath. Father had lied. She shuts her eyes and takes in another deep breath. This whole time her mother hated Jon for a betrayal that never occurred. She died believing a lie.

 

Arya could cry, but she hasn’t cried in so long that she’s forgotten how too. _Sansa and Jon._ It seems so impossible. Arya sits down on the steps of the inn and looks up to the sky. Thoughts float in and out of her mind until she finally processes it all. 

 

“Jon married Sansa, because she’s the Key to the North,” Arya says to herself. “And, Sansa agreed to it, because Jon would never have made her marry him."

 

“All hail our true King, Jaehaerys!” a drunken man shouts. “And, his Queen in the North!”

 

“The Queen in the North!” another man shouts in response.

 

Arya takes needle from her sheath and sets the flat side of her blade on her lap. How long has Jon known the truth? It must have been after he joined the Night’s Watch. Who told him the truth, then? Father has been dead for such a long time now. Who else could have known?

 

 _Howland Reed._ Arya laughs to herself. Lord Reed kept Jon's secret for this long. In a world full of backstabbers and schemers, there's still one honest person amongst them.

 

If Jon has made peace with Sansa, Arya thinks that she can too. She never truly hated her sister. Sansa probably doesn’t hate her either. Arya sheaths needle and rises to her feet. She goes to her horse. She had intended to kill the Queen, but Cersei isn’t the Queen—not truly. Arya hops onto her horse. She can see Winterfell in her mind. She turns her horse back the way she came and heads North.


	16. Jon VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, once again, have to think you guys for all of your support for this story. I'm looking at my kudos and I'm close to 1000. I've never hit that many before on anything I've ever posted. So, thank you all so much. This means so much to me.

Dragonstone, to Jon’s surprise, is all sand and rock. There was the adventurous part of Jon that had wanted to see what lie south, but he finds Dragonstone to be underwhelming. There’s a part of him that contemplates that perhaps he would like Dragonstone more if he weren’t cooped up in a cave most of his time, but to go see the castle would be too much of a risk. 

 

Jon lays a pair of obsidian rocks into a mining cart. They’ve made good work so far. Jon dusts off the black crow feathers and walks back out of the cave. Ser Davos is staring out into the sea. Jon follows his gaze to see black banners off in the distance.

 

“We have visitors, _Tarly_.” Davos refers to Jon by his alias just as he was instructed to do.

 

Jon looks to the Northern soldiers dressed as men of the Night’s Watch. The men have been instructed to refer to him as Maester Samwell Tarly, but how long until they break? Jon grimaces. He had meant to come down here for dragonglass and dragonglass alone. The last thing he wants is to become a hostage.

 

“Set Davos,” a Northern soldier lowers his looking glass. “Your grace…”

 

“Maester Tarly,” Jon corrects.

 

“ _Maester Tarly,”_ the Northern soldier corrects his speech. “The ships hold Targaryen banners.”

 

“Jaehaerys is the direct heir, Ser Davos says. “ _If_ any of his family still survives, they have no claim to the Seven Kingdoms.”

 

“There’s something else,” the soldier says. “They have dragons.”

 

Jon looks into the sky to see three creatures circling the ships. His gut feels as if it’s being split open. The Dance of the Dragons resurfaces in his mind. If he’s not careful, he might be torched by dragon’s fire. Whether this person is Viserys or Daenerys, Jon can’t see that they’re going to accept that there is another that supersedes their claim.

 

“They are probably already well informed that their kin holds the North,” Jon states. “If they don't know, they'll soon find out. Ser Davos, I ask that you accept an audience with our visitors. Tell me everything that occurs. I do not wish to attend an audience unless they ask.”

 

Jon retreats back into the cave until he reaches where the etchings of the White Walkers lay engraved in the walls. Jon grabs a nail from the ground and a pickax. He hammers against a large chunk of dragonglass, trying in vain to distract himself.

 

Sweat forms on his brow as his mind runs in circles. He hits against the large rock, watching piece after piece of dragonglass fall into smaller rocks. He tries to focus to get his mind off the looming threat at sea. The truth of the matter is that he knows he’s in danger of becoming a hostage at best. At worst, he'll be executed. Sansa won’t kneel if he is to die here. She’ll resist his family to her death.

 

Jon sets his tools down on the ground and grabs his wineskin. He brings it to his lips and sips heavily. Jon lets out a deep sigh, still tasting the wine on his breath. He had meant to venture to Dragonstone and make a fast trip back. Now he may die here. He remembers looking back on Sansa from his horse. She had raised her hand to wave him goodbye. He had told Ghost to take care of her and to watch over her. If he dies here, Ghost is all she'll have left of the time before the Lannisters tore her world apart.

 

The day he left isn't their last goodbye. The Gods cannot be so cruel as to allow them both one moment of happiness before snatching it away. Jon brings the wineskin to his lips and drinks another heavy sip of ale. He thanks the Gods for his dark hair and dark eyes. Silver hair and purple eyes would be a death sentence for him long before this Targaryen ever came to Westeros. Robert Baratheon would have seen to his slaughter.

 

Jon sits against the rock and stares up at the etchings above. The Night King and his army marches towards the Winterfell. If he is to die here, Winterfell dies with him. He can’t exactly tell his family to turn around and go back to Essos, and it’s too late to flee. Jon looks to the cart of dragonglass. He can at least try to do the little he can until his situation changes. 

 

Jon sets the wineskin aside and grabs his tools from the ground. He strikes against the dragonglass, allowing for shards of rock to fall. He carries the rocks to the cart and repeats the process. Time seems to blend together until he fills the cart. Jon sets his tools on the ground and runs the sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve.

 

Jon steps out for some fresh air. The sun has fallen from the sky and blanketed Dragonstone under a sea of stars. Tormund dressed in plain leathers steps forth. “Ser Davos is in an audience with Daenerys Targaryen, Maester Tarly.”

 

Jon nods. He steps out onto the beach. He can see dragons fire erupt in the sky. Three dragons could be of use against the Night King, but what price will he have to pay if he negotiates an alliance with Daenerys Targaryen? Jon scowls. He won’t yield to her—not after everything he saw in death, not after fighting so hard to take Winterfell back for Sansa.

 

“Do you think you could ride one of them?” Tormund asks.

 

The gears in Jon’s head begin to turn. “I can find out. That is if she lets me get close to one of them.”

 

“But, you are Maester Samwell Tarly,” Tormund says. “ _She_ doesn’t know you can ride a dragon.”

 

Jon grins to the Tormund and pats his hand Tormund's arm. Jon returns to the cave and Tormund follows. Jon stops to gaze at the etchings on the cave wall. Someone had drawn these as a warning. The Night King has been feared long before the Seven Kingdoms were unified. _Conquered_ , Jon reminds himself. They were forced to bend the knee to his ancestor, Aegon I. None of the high lords wanted to give up their land.

 

“If she kills you over an iron chair, we’re all going to die,” Tormund says ominously. 

 

“You don’t think she’ll fight the Night King?” Jon asks.

 

“She doesn’t even know what’s beyond the wall,” Tormund says. “I doubt she’ll give a flip until the Night King is at her door. By then, it will be too late.”

 

“We can try to make allies,” Jon argues.

 

“Aye, you can,” Tormund says. “But, I gather she won’t. The people south of the wall are too caught up in their petty horseshit.”

 

“Is that how you see us?” Jon asks.

 

“Most of your lot, yes.” Tormund grins. “But, not you or your lady. You both are fine enough.”

 

 _Sansa_ —Jon can still see the way her blue eyes flickered up to him with sadness the morning he had left. She’s so far from him now. He remembers how much she used to sing when they were young. If he makes it home, he’ll ask her to sing for him. A sad smile crosses Jon’s features. If his aunt burns him to a crisp, who will protect Winterfell from the Night King?

 

Jon tenses when he hears the sound of boots crunching against the ground. He turns his head to see Ser Davos with a silver-haired woman. Jon looks into her purple eyes and tenses under her gaze.

 

“You are Maester Tarly?” she asks.

 

“Yes, your grace.” Jon bows his head smoothly, and suddenly, he feels like the bastard he once believed himself to be. It's almost natural to him to feel beneath others that his facade come so easily to him.

 

“Lord Commander _Jon Snow_ sent you here?” Daenerys asks.

 

“Jon Snow is no longer serving as Lord Commander, your grace,” Jon replies, forcing her title through gritted teeth. “I am only fulfilling the last command I was given before leaving the Night’s Watch. There is a threat coming from beyond the wall. The North needs dragonglass and this is the only source we have in the Seven Kingdoms.”

 

“Do you serve Jon Snow?” Daenerys’ purple eyes harden as she takes a step forward.

 

“I am a man of the Night’s Watch,” Jon says. “I serve the realm.”

 

“You were a lord once though,” Daenerys states. “My hand has informed me that your father sent you to the Night’s Watch, because he didn’t see you fit to rule his house. And yet, you’re a maester now and you look capable enough.”

 

“I was…” Jon pauses, hating to say harsh words against his good friend's name. “I was a _coward_ until I joined the Watch, but after all that I’ve seen beyond the wall—all that I’ve faced—I’m not afraid of anything anymore.”

 

They stand in silence as Daenerys studies him with her violet eyes. Her words are sharp and her stares are hard, but she seems rational enough. Jon had expected worse. _Perhaps_ he has misjudged his family based on their history.

 

“I am my father’s last surviving heir,” Daenerys states.

 

“There is a king that claims otherwise,” Jon states.

 

“I am aware.” Daenerys’ voice turns cold as ice. “Samwell Tarly, has Jon Snow presented proof of this claim?”

 

“I have yet to see, your grace.” The lie comes out smoother than he had expected it too.

 

“Men can say whatever they please and most people will believe them,” Daenerys says. “But, I’m told that Jon Snow looks more like Lord Eddard Stark than my brother, Rhaegar. It would seem that he married his half-sister.”

 

Jon’s anger rises at her words. “I don’t see why that would concern you.”

 

Fire seems to dance behind Daenerys' eyes. “Why wouldn’t it bother me?”

 

“Your father married his sister, your grace,” Jon states. “I imagine you had a formal education on your family and their customs before you sailed here. You are aware of the current affairs of the Seven Kingdoms I would hope.”

 

“I know enough,” Daenerys snaps. “And, it should not be of your concern Tarly. I am the true heir. You serve me—not Cersei Lannister and not the imposter Jon Snow.”

 

Jon could snap back with a thousand unkind words, but he reminds himself of where he is. This is not Winterfell. The moment Daenerys Targaryen set foot on this island, the power dynamics had shifted against his favor. Jon breathes and pictures Sansa in King’s Landing. She had survived in the company of her enemies. He can survive here under the guise of Samwell Tarly.

 

“I serve the realm, your grace,” Jon says. “When I return to the Wall, I will most likely die in the war to come. If you are the true heir and you are to be our sovereign, I must warn you that there is a greater threat than your enemies to the North and South. Your grace, you must set aside your goals to—“

 

“Ser Davos has made me aware of the Night King,” Daenerys interrupts.

 

“So, you will help us?” Jon asks.

 

“The Others are a fairytale, Samwell Tarly,” Daenerys says his false name as if to taunt him.

 

“I’ve seen them,” Jon argues.

 

“I believe that you think that you saw something, Tarly,” Daenerys says. “The weather is harsh behind the wall. You were under stress. You saw things that weren’t real.”

 

“Your grace, you must believe me,” Jon says. 

 

“Do you have proof of this _Night King_ and his army?” Daenerys asks.

 

“I don’t, but—“ 

 

“I cannot waste my resources on a fairytale, Tarly,” Daenerys says. “I came here to take back what is mine by birthright. My concerns are with my enemies Cersei Lannister, Jon Snow, and Sansa Stark.”

 

“You see the lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms as your enemies?” Jon asks.

 

“Yes, until they yield to me,” Daenerys says. “They can live in my new world or they can die in their old world. None of this is of your concern, Tarly. You are a man without lands or titles. I ask that you leave and return to the wall without the resources you have attempted to steal from me.”

 

“Dragonglass can do nothing against a blade,” Jon states. “Your grace, if I do not return to the Wall—“

 

“My decision is final, Tarly,” Daenerys turns away from him, leaving him in the cave.

 

Jon looks to Tormund who stands in silence with him. They wait for what feels like an eternity. Tormund finally speaks, “I hope your men are loyal to you. If one of them breaks, you’re a dead man.”

 

  
  



	17. Sansa VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To start, for all book readers here: It's Victarion that sails with an Iron Fleet to Essos and Asha that wishes to make peace with the North in Feast. So, I'm going with book canon for this part of the story. That and Theon has ties to the North and I feel as if he'd encourage his sister to fight for Sansa.
> 
> This chapter is going in a much different direction than S7 did. So, this is the huge breaking point for my rewrite of S7. There won't be Arya vs Sansa or that ridiculous wight hunt. I hope you guys like the new direction I'm taking Sansa here. 
> 
> I'd also like to thank each and every one of you for 1,000 kudos and 800 subscriptions to this story. When I begin writing this, I never expected this kind of response. Thank you to all of you for everything. I wouldn't have made it this far without hearing all your kind words.

The amount of coin left at the North’s disposal is dismal. Sansa turns through pages and pages of numbers, trying to find a way to spread out as much coin for food and supplies to get through the long winter. Clearly, there won’t be enough resources to make it till spring. There’s also the lack of allies that have pledged to their cause. The Reach has yet to answer and Dorne is out of the question as well. The Iron Islands has been split into three factions. Euron has declared for Cersei and Victarion has appeared to have sailed off to Essos. This leaves Asha Greyjoy. Sansa can only hope that Theon can convince his sister to declare for Jon.

 

The door to her solar opens. Sansa tenses, but relaxes when she sees Lord Reed. If Jon manages to win the wars to come, it’s clear that this man will be declared Jon’s hand. Howland Reed is a reasonable choice. He’s kept Jon’s secret for years and has been loyal to their cause since Sansa started her rebellion against House Bolton. She wouldn't pick any other else for the job.

 

Howland takes a seat in front of her table and sets down a rolled piece of parchment. “A letter for the King.”

 

Sansa takes the parchment in hand. She rolls it over to see a golden seal with a spear and skulls. She breaks the seal and unrolls the parchment.

 

_To His Grace Jaehaerys III Targaryen,_

 

_Black or red, a dragon is still a dragon. If you are in need of steel, we offer our services at a price to the heir to House Targaryen. Our word is as good as gold._

 

_-Harry Strickland_

 

“The Golden Company?” Sansa glances over the parchment again. “Why would they send this?”

 

“I advised Jon to write to them before he left,” Lord Reed replies. “I didn’t expect a response, but apparently, it was worth a shot.”

 

“We can’t afford them,” Sansa replies. “We can’t even afford to keep our subjects feed through the long winter. We cannot afford to hire sellswords. I’ve seen the smallfolk when they’re starving in King’s Landing. It would be an insult to have them freeze or starve just to hire men across the Narrow Sea to wage fight our wars.”

 

“We can borrow money from the Iron Bank, your grace,” Lord Reed suggests. “You said it yourself. There are not enough resources to feed or clothe your subjects.”

 

“I can’t be sure I can pay it back,” Sansa argues. “The North has bled through war. Our resources have been stolen by our enemies. I don’t want to accrue debt that my husband cannot pay.”

 

“You will pay your debts when you win the war,” Lord Reed states. “I would never advise you to borrow money that you can’t repay.”

 

Sansa sets the parchment down and leans back in her chair. She doesn’t like the idea of borrowing money from the Iron Bank, but at the very least, it will keep her subjects fed through the harsh winter. She wishes she could send a raven to Jon, but it’s crucial that he remain under the guise of Samwell Tarly. She will have to go to the Iron Bank on Jon’s behalf. This leads her to her next problem. She cannot leave Winterfell.

 

“I can’t leave Winterfell to negotiate with the Iron Bank,” Sansa says. “I am the last Stark in Winterfell. I cannot abandon my people.”

 

Sansa takes the piece of parchment from her table and walks towards the fireplace. She throws the parchment in the fire and watches it burn. This has been a running habit lately. All letters must be burned in case one of Cersei’s spies have managed to slip into Winterfell. Sansa won’t lose to the Lannisters like her father, her mother, and Robb. She won’t allow Cersei to win and rule the North. She’s already fought too hard and lost too much to allow Cersei another victory over House Stark. 

 

Sansa keeps her eyes on the fire, watching as the paper twists and curls into itself before turning to ash. “I lie awake at night and stare at the ceiling. I can’t sleep, Lord Reed. I keep thinking and fearing all these horrible things have happened to Jon. I’m afraid I won’t ever see him again.”

 

“We haven’t heard anything,” Lord Reed reassures. “No news is oftentimes good news.”

 

There is a loud knock on the door. Sansa pulls her gaze away from the fire and mutters “ _this better be important_ ” under her breath. Lord Reed is already opening the door for her before she can make her way across the room. A Stark soldier steps inside her solar. He bows his head before addressing her. “Your grace, pardon the intrusion, but there is a girl inside our gates. She claims to be your sister.”

 

Sansa moves past the soldier in an abrupt stride. _Arya is alive?_ She had always hoped it to be true, but now her sister is here. She bites the inside of her lower lip and reminds herself to be skeptical. Hope is cruel, because it so often prolongs ones suffering. She had to learn that hard lesson in King’s Landing the day she was informed that her mother and brother had died at the hands of the Freys. 

 

Sansa steps out on the upper deck and looks down on the grounds of Winterfell. There’s a girl with brown hair standing before Brienne of Tarth. On her hip is a small sword. The girl looks up to her and when their eyes meet, Sansa knows that this is her sister. Her feet move slowly, taking her to the wooden staircase. She takes each step down slowly, and suddenly, she’s reminded of when she was first reunited with Jon.

 

Sansa steps towards Arya and looks down on her. She takes in her features from her dark hair to her grey eyes. This is Arya. This is her sister. The two girls embrace. Sansa can’t feel the anger she felt when Lady was put down. She no longer harbors the frustration she felt with her sister when they’d get into their spats. All she can feel is sheer gratitude that another Stark lives. She no longer is the last of her family line. There is another Stark in Winterfell now.

 

The girls separate and look up to each other. Arya is the first to speak. “I need to see Jon.”

 

It's as if a blade has cut pierced through her heart. Sansa's voice seems to die and all she can do is stare gravely down at her sister. 

 

Brienne answers for her. “The King is away, Lady Stark.”

 

“Lady Stark…?” Arya raises an eyebrow and turns to look to Brienne.

 

“You are the Lady of Winterfell now,” Brienne states. “Now that the Targaryen House has been restored, there is a need of Warden of the North. Her grace, Sansa Stark cannot take that place since she is married to his grace, Jaehaerys Targaryen."

 

Arya’s eyes flicker away from Brienne. She pivots and faces Sansa. “I’m not a lady.”

 

Arya brushes past Sansa. Sansa draws in a deep, frustrated breath. It appears not much has changed after all. She turns to follow the path Arya’s footsteps have left in the snow until she reaches the top of the battlements. She sees Ayra gazing off into the distance just as Jon so often does. 

 

Sansa takes a few careful steps toward Arya in an attempt to be civil. Arya’s eyes glance up to her before snapping away. Sansa opens her mouth to speak, but is at a loss for words. She fears that one wrong word might reignite their childhood feud. Sansa glances at the sword on Arya’s hip. It’s small enough to be made for a mere child rather than a grown adult. Why would she carry such a small blade into adulthood? It comes to her so easily and Sansa half-smiles. _Of course._  

 

“Jon had that sword made for you,” Sansa states. “You weren’t learning to dance in King’s Landing, were you?”

 

Arya’s hand falls to the hilt of her blade. She turns to look to Sansa. “I didn’t believe it until I saw the Stark and Targaryen banners hanging from Winterfell. It would seem you got what you always wanted...to be Queen. You avoided Jon like a bloody plague when we were children. Now that he’s the heir to the Targaryen line, you’ve had a change of heart. I can reassure you that he's not like Joffrey, but I’m sure you’ve already realized that by now. You must be so happy."

 

Arya’s words feel like an insult. “That’s not why I married Jon. We became close when we reunited. I had no idea he was Prince Rhaegar's heir."

 

“That sounds very _Targaryen._ ” Arya half-scoff and half-laughs. “I suppose he’s taken after his ancestors, then.”

 

“It’s not what it sounds like,” Sansa argues. “It’s complicated, Arya.”

 

“I’m sure it is.”

 

“Arya, there is no reason for us to argue. We were children then. Neither of us had any idea what was waiting for us in King’s Landing.” Sansa takes a step toward Arya. “Arya, I need you right now. I have to leave Winterfell, but I can’t if you do not take your position as Warden of the North.”

 

“You’re leaving now?” Arya says. Her eyes gaze up at her and soften slightly. “To be with Jon?"

 

“I wish I could,” Sansa replies. “But, I can’t go to Dragonstone. If Cersei sees Stark banners sailing that far South, she’ll find a way to murder me.”

 

“Then, why leave? Brienne can protect you here.”

 

“I have to borrow money from the Iron Bank.” Sansa keeps her voice low in case there are others eavesdropping. “Arya, if I don’t do this, we won’t survive the long winter. Jon has gone south to procure resources under the guise of Samwell Tarly of the Night's Watch. I can’t send him so much as a raven. I know we’ve had our arguments, but that no longer matters. If we don’t set our differences aside, we will all die.”

“When the snow falls and the white wind blows, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.” There’s a sad look in Arya’s eyes. “Father told me that before he died.”

 

The tension between them seems to have eased. Sansa takes a few tentative steps toward Arya. Sansa turns to look out onto the winter snow. Each day it seems that the sheet of snow on the ground has become thicker. _Winter is here._ Jon fears the army of the dead beyond the wall, but Sansa fears the army south of Winterfell. She’ll never truly be safe until Cersei’s head is on a spike.

 

“Your grace!” One of Reed’s men is rushing toward her. “A raven from Dragonstone!”

 

The soldier places a rolled parchment in her hand. The Targaryen sigil brings a smile to Sansa’s face. Jon must have sent this. Sansa breaks the seal. Her happiness turns to ash the moment her eyes read the contents of the letter. 

 

_“To the Imposter Jon Snow,_

_I, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt Queen of Meereen, Queen of the Andals and Ryonar and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Sea and Mother of Dragons…”_

 

“She sounds like she's got her head up her own arse,” Arya interrupts.

 

Sansa continues, _“...asks that you drop your false title. Your marriage to your half-sister will be annulled and you will return to the wall. Lady Sansa Stark will come to Dragonstone and bend the knee just as her ancestor Tohren Stark bent the knee to my ancestor Aegon I. Your refusal…”_

 

Sansa chokes back her words. Arya looks up to her with a glint of anger in her eyes. “What does it say?”

 

“Your refusal to obey my commands will lead me to believe that House Stark is in open rebellion of House Targaryen. I will have no choice but to take the appropriate action against your treacherous house. I will take what is rightful mine with fire and blood.”

 

Sansa rolls the parchment up and hands it to Lord Reed’s bannerman. “Take this to Lord Reed. He will know how to deal with it.”

 

“As you wish, your grace.” The soldier bows before he takes his leave.

 

“Jon is in Dragonstone,” Arya states. “She’ll kill him.”

 

“She believes him to be Maester Samwell Tarly of the Night’s Watch,” Sansa reminds. “He’s safe so long as she doesn’t discover who he truly is.”

 

“And, what if she does?” Arya’s voice becomes panicked. “Do you remember Aegon II and Rhaenyra?”

 

“Of course I remember.” Sansa’s voice is grave.

 

“Go to the Iron Bank.”

 

Sansa glances to Arya. “You would stay here for me?”

 

“I’m not sure how to be Warden of the North or a lady for that matter,” Arya says. “But, Jon is depending on me right now. Go now. Jon needs you.”

 

Sansa nods and turns away from Arya. Panic starts to overcome her. They have so many enemies now. They can’t fight this war without the Golden Company. They need more men.

 

“Sansa,” Arya calls out to her.

 

Sansa pivots and glances back to Arya. There’s this fierce look in Arya’s eyes when she looks up to her. Arya’s hand instinctively falls to her sword before she says, “If Daenerys Targaryen burns you or Jon like Aerys burned our grandfather, I will _end_ her myself. She will never sit on the Iron Throne so long as I live.”

 

 _The lone wolf dies but the pack survives_. Sansa and Arya exchange one last look before Sansa races down the steps. If she’s going to leave the safety of Winterfell, she’s going to take her strongest allies, Lord Reed and Lady Brienne. She can still see Jon’s dark eyes and the way he smiles at her. Sansa silently prays to the Old Gods to return Jon to Winterfell safely.  _Let him live,_ Sansa prays. And, she hopes that this time the God's will answer her prayers.

 


	18. Jon IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I'm back with the next chapter! Again, I want to tell you all how grateful I am with the response I'm getting for this story. I never in my life of writing fic would have thought this many people would be invested in my writing. Thank you all for everything. You truly are a blessing.

Ser Davos has taken his second audience with Daenerys in an attempt to persuade her to allow the Night’s Watch to stay. The men in Dragonstone are not members of the Night’s Watch though. They are Northmen masquerading as crows. This whole charade can fall apart so easily with one slip of the tongue. Jon leans against the wall of the cave. With Tyrion Lannister as Hand of the King, he cannot attend the audience as he was asked to. Daenerys will not be pleased by this, but better her to be displeased by his absence than to explode with rage when she discovers he’s the heir that supersedes her claim.

 

Jon throws a rock lazily across the cave. Tormund glances at him and half grins. They sit in silence for awhile longer before Tormund breaks their silence. “You think Davos can convince her?”

 

“No.” Jon hadn’t meant for his response to be so blunt, but the simple word seemed to fall so easily from his lips.

 

“I guess we’re all going to die, then,” Tormund says ominously.

 

Jon hears the sound of boots crunching the ground. His heart pounds, fearing that Tyrion might be following behind Daenerys dutifully. When she arrives, a well dressed bald man is by her side. Every muscle seems to relax in Jon’s body at once. He’s never seen this man in his entire life. Jon rises to his feet and bows to Daenerys as if he were the bastard he once thought he was.

 

“You did not attend the audience as I had requested.” Daenerys' voice is bold. “Why?”

 

“The lives of many innocent people depend on me mining this dragonglass,” Jon replies. 

 

“You say that you’ve seen Samwell Tarly, Lord Varys?” Daenerys says to her advisor. “Is this Lord Tarly’s son?”

 

Varys looks to Jon. Jon stares to Varys. The entire North depends on this man’s answer. Jon draws in a deep breath and closes his eyes. When he opens them, he looks directly into Lord Varys' eyes as if to plead to him to lie.

 

“He was a lot heavier as a child,” Lord Varys replies. “But, it appears the Night’s Watch has made good work of him. This is Randyl Tarly’s son, your grace.”

 

Lord Varys’ words stun him. Jon knows that he bears little resemblance to Sam. This Lord Varys has chosen to lie on his behalf. Jon glances at Varys, searching his eyes for the reason behind this outright lie. Is he an ally to the North or does he have his own reasons for turning on his queen?

 

“Randyl Tarly and his son have chosen to fight for the Lannisters, Samwell Tarly,” Daenerys states. “They have chosen to betray their rightful queen for Cersei Lannister. I wish to make you Lord of Hornhill in your father’s place.”

 

Jon chooses his next words carefully. “You honor me, my queen, but I am needed at the wall. If I do not return this dragonglass North—”

 

“I have no concern for the North, Tarly.” Daenerys’ violet eyes piece his gaze. “It would seem that you still see your Lord Commander as a leader.”

 

“Jon Snow and Sansa Stark will likely perish at the hands of the Night King’s army. You and Cersei will as well if action is not taken now,” Jon counters. “Your grace, if you do not allow me to return this dragonglass to the Night’s Watch, the Night King will sit on the Iron Throne and you will be nothing but another dead body that follows his lead.”

 

“You have no proof of this army,” Daenerys states.

 

“Why else would I be mining dragonglass?” Jon asks. “Why else would these men in the Night’s Watch come south if there isn’t a realistic threat marching toward the wall as we speak, your grace? I ask you to set aside your conquest for the Iron Throne—”

 

“It is not a conquest, Tarly.” Daenerys’ words are clipped. “It is my birthright. That throne belonged to my father. I am his last surviving heir.”

 

Varys clears his throat to draw attention to himself. “Your grace, if I may speak?”

 

“Speak,” Daenerys says with mild annoyance.

 

“Dragonglass cannot be forged into any sort of weapon that will stand against a blade of iron. I do not believe Samwell Tarly wishes to mine for weaponry that will be used against you, your grace.”

 

“You would believe in children’s tales, Lord Varys? You make me doubt your counsel,” Daenerys replies.

 

“It is not a matter of believing in children’s tales, your grace,” Lord Varys replies. “I just cannot see any other reason for mining dragonglass. It isn’t exactly an eye catching stone one would use to sell off to merchants at a high price nor is it a precious metal such as Valyrian steel. Obsidian has very little value. This looks to me like desperation, your grace. These men must have seen something truly terrifying to come all this way for dragonglass of all materials.”

 

Daenerys studies Jon with fierce eyes. He expects her to reject his proposal, but her glance seems to soften as she looks to him. “If my trusted advisor is correct in his assumptions, it would seem you have more honor than your father gave you credit for, Samwell Tarly. You’re willing to risk your life for the realm. You should be a lord rather than a crow.”

 

Daenerys’ eyes do not falter as she looks to him. There’s something behind them that tells him that she no longer sees him as a threat. She’s offered him lordship directly once and now she’s suggesting it to him indirectly with her words. She seems to be oddly fond of him. 

 

Jon tests her with his next words. “When I was a child, I thought that I would be Lord of Hornhill. My father made sure that would not be the case when he forced me to take the black. But, I do not wish to supersede my brother’s claim, your grace. He was good to me.”

 

“Perhaps not Lord of Hornhill,” Daenerys takes a step towards him and stares up into his eyes. “Lady Tyrell no longer has an heir. The Tyrells will no longer hold the reach when she passes. Write to your brother. Tell him to bend the knee. I will make you Lord of Highgarden and Dickon Tarly can still be Lord of Hornhill.”

 

The violent eyes that once look to him with contempt seem to dilate as her lips part softly. She seems to have taken a liking to him. Sam would be a fair leader, but he is not Sam. Jon can see what she wants. All monarchs need to make marriage alliances. Lord Tully is already wed. Lord Arynn is tied to the Sansa Stark through Lysa Tully. The Iron Islands are in the middle of a power struggle. To make him Lord of Highgarden would be her best and possibly only option. Jon breaks eye contact with Daenerys. She can’t see how hopeless this all is. Daenerys is his aunt by blood and he is already married to the woman he loves. A marriage between them can never occur.

 

Jon raises his eyes to her. He remembers kneeling before the heart tree and asking the Gods to protect Sansa from all that mean to hurt her. He remembers the vow he made to stay true to her in their marriage. Jon grimaces and says,  “I took a vow, your grace. I took that vow before the gods. To break a vow would be a slight to those more powerful than you or I.”

 

“You intend to stay with the Night’s Watch even after your father forced you to?” Daenerys says.

 

“Until I am no longer needed North,” Jon replies. “I am sorry, your grace. I cannot be Lord of Highgarden."

 

Jon expects her to explode with rage, but she turns her back on him instead as if to disguise her disappointment. Jon takes a step toward Daenerys to smoother the flames that might burn within her from rejection. "Your grace, I—"

 

“The Night King is marching toward us. You best get to work, Samwell Tarly.”

 

* * *

 

Dawn is breaking when Jon steps outside of the cave. Jon’s muscles are sore from overwork. He craves a scorching hot bath rather than bathing himself with the canteen water that he's used sparingly over the past few days. Jon steps toward the beach and watches as the waves crash against the shore. He watches the sun rise from the sky. The sight is truly beautiful, and yet he would rather be on the battlements of Winterfell with the ice cold wind grazing his skin. 

 

“Jaehaerys Targaryen…”

 

Every muscle seems to freeze when he hears his trueborn name spoken aloud. Jon looks over his shoulder to see Lord Varys standing behind him. Jon turns his eyes forward and looks back to the sunrise.

 

“I had a feeling you knew who I was,” Jon admits. “You could have easily told Daenerys who I was, but you didn't."

 

“And, you would be dead if I told the truth,” Varys replies.

 

“Why would that concern you?” Jon asks. “You know her very well, but you know very little about me. Why take my side?"

 

“My little birds have told me enough to form an opinion of you,” Varys replies. “I remember your wife when she was still but a girl. She was very kind—too kind for the likes of King’s Landing. I can only imagine Cersei’s rage when you made your claim and married Sansa Stark."

 

“Cersei believes my claim as much as your queen does, Lord Varys,” Jon answers. “They both want to believe I’m a fraud that married my half-sister, because it delegitimizes my claim.”

 

“You are telling the truth about your parentage. That much I am confident of.” Varys steps forward to stand by Jon’s side. He turns and glances towards Jon before saying, “Why would Howland Reed follow you if you were a fraud? The truth is clear as day to all those that want to know it.”

 

“Why are you here, Varys?” Jon asks bluntly.

 

“Because, the queen asked me to be here,” Varys replies. “She sent me here in hopes that I could persuade you to take up lordship in the Reach. Clearly, that is impossible.”

 

“Do you mean to tell her?” Jon asks.

 

“No,” Lord Varys replies simply. “For her to have you slain on Dragonstone would send the realm into a war far bloodier than the War of the Five Kings. If this Night King you speak of is real, that is the last thing the realm needs.”

 

“What of Tyrion Lannister?” Jon says. “He will know who I am."

 

“I have already have made plans to have him accompany Daenerys’ forces to Lannisport,” Varys replies. “We may not be allies, but we have common ground. I want what is best for the realm, Jaehaerys. I can see that if your willing to set aside the Iron Throne for this threat beyond the wall, you are putting the realm before your own self-interests as well.”

 

Jon glances up to the sky to see a dragon flying above him. A burst of fire erupts in the sky. Dragons are the sigil of his Great House, but all he can do is fear what may come of Winterfell if Daenerys marches on them.

 

“Jaehaerys, if I may give you a word of advice,” Varys’ voice becomes dark with warning. “The Queen has taken a liking to you. You may not be Samwell Tarly, but please try to sound interested the next time she offers you the Reach. Your wife did not survive King’s Landing being honest with her family’s enemies. You’ve already lied to Queen Daenerys about your identity once already. You can at least try to play the game if you wish to sit on the Iron Throne.”

 

Jon looks to the sky to see a green dragon circling him. Would she let him close to one of her dragons if he gained her trust? Jon thinks of how much fire could devastate the Night King’s army. His jaw tightens. Jon’s knows his next move and he hates it. He turns to meet Lord Varys’ glance. “Thank you Lord Varys for your counsel.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really need Jon and Sansa to reunite soon, you guys. I'm dying here.
> 
> On Daenerys: I did not want to write her as a one-note tyrant. So she shows a little bit of humanity here and softens up to Jon. Her tyrannic nature will eventually get the best of her later on just as it did in canon though.


	19. Sansa IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I apologize that my updating speed has been dragging lately. I start school so I have to find time in my work and school schedule to work on this. I think the chapters with Jon and Sansa apart are also harder for me to write especially Jon's chapters (ick so much Dany). Next chapter will probably be a lot longer, but I'm also extremely excited about everything about the next coming chapter.

The warmth radiating from the sun touches Sanaa’s cheeks as she walks by Howland Reed’s side to the doors of the Iron Bank. Bravos is different than she could have imagined. She had expected something like King’s Landing, but it is much different. The wolf crown upon her head seems meaningless here as there are no Kings or Queens in the East other than Jon’s aunt in territories farther east than Bravos. Does she mean to have even Bravos yield to her? Sansa wonders if Daenerys Targaryen will see the world as hers and hers alone.

 

Sansa steps inside the Iron Bank. She walks into the center of a large room that seems to engulf her. Lady Brienne’s armor echoes throughout the room. Sansa can’t help but think how much closer she truly is to Jon. Under less dangerous circumstances, she would meet with him to whisk him away from Dragonstone. 

 

But, it is too dangerous now. Jon’s family has always been dangerous. Sansa should have suspected that one of Prince Rhaegar’s children had survived and that their thirst for power would never be quenched until that person sat upon the Iron Throne.

 

Daenerys does not realize that Samwell Tarly of the Night’s Watch is Jon or so Sansa hopes. She wrings her hands as her nerves seem to nip at her. They were so happy just a short while ago. She can’t lose him—not after losing half her family. 

 

Footsteps echo through the hall. Sansa relaxes her shoulders and masks her worry with a neutral expression just as Baelish had so often instructed her to do in the Vale. A man steps toward her. Sansa straightens her spine and looks to the man before her.

 

“Sansa Stark I presume?” the man says.

 

Sansa curtsies. “Yes.”

 

The man bows his head. “Tycho Nestoris at your service.”

 

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Sansa replies.

 

“Right this way.” Tycho motions for her to follow.

 

Sansa follows with Howland Reed by her side. She can hear Lady Brienne’s armor echo from behind her. Sansa enters a room to see another man behind a desk. Sansa takes a seat in front of the desk and sits in silence.

 

“Sansa Stark, this is Noho Dimittis,” Tycho introduces.

 

“It seems with every new moon, there is another monarch in Westeros,” Dimittis states. “You are here representing your husband, Jon Snow?”

 

“Jaehaerys III Targaryen,” Sansa corrects.

 

“That’s right. Jon Snow claims to be the son of Rhaegar Targaryen,” he replies. “I suppose that must have stung for Daenerys Targaryen when she discovered the truth of Jon Snow’s origins.”

 

“You sound as if you don’t believe them,” Sansa states.

 

“It doesn’t matter to me whether he’s a fraud or not,” Dimittis states. “What matters is to the Iron Bank is that we receive what is owed after _King Jaehaerys_ borrows. Robert Baratheon was unable to return his payment and my attempts to collect from his wife have been _difficult,_ to say the least.”

 

“I can speak from experience that Cersei is someone you should not trust,” Sansa states.

 

“And your husband is?” Dimittis states. “His grandfather Aerys made threats to expand his fleet to wage a war on Bravos so that he could erase the debt Jaehaerys II collected.”

 

“King Jaehaerys is not his grandfather,” Lord Reed is quick to defend Jon. “He is good-tempered and was raised in the company of the Starks. He does not carry the arrogance that is so often attributed to the Targaryen line.”

 

“But, he is still young,” Dimittis argues. “They say the Mad King was quite charming in his youth. Targaryen Madness can remain dormant for many years before showing itself to the world. Sansa Stark, there are those that say Daenerys Targaryen is a savior and there are those that say she is cruel. You are here telling me that Jaehaerys is different than Aerys, but if I asked Cersei Lannister, she would tell me the opposite.”

 

Sansa falls silent. Jon is not here with her. How can she prove to these men that he is different? Sansa can imagine quite clearly what Cersei would say against Jon if she came to ask for more money from the Iron Bank. She would say that Jon is a fraud that married his sister despite her own relations with her brother, Jaime. Sansa thinks of Joffrey and how cruel he was. Joffrey was the Mad King, not Jon. 

 

And, with that thought, it all comes to her. Sansa straightens her shoulders and clears her throat before she speaks. “Jaehaerys was born into this world by a Stark and not through Targaryen incest. I’m sure you heard the truth of Cersei’s relations with her brother.”

 

“These _rumors_ were started by your father,” Dimittis argues.

 

“They aren’t just mere rumors. My father was telling the truth and he paid for it with his life,” Sansa argues. “Joffrey like Aerys was born through sibling incest. He was cruel and mad. It isn’t that the Targaryen bloodline itself is tainted that makes them mad. It is the practice of incest so prevalent in their family that creates the madness in their family. I was betrothed to Joffrey for some time. I know what madness looks like from first-hand experience. Noho Dimittis, I understand that there is a history that my husband’s family carries, but he is not the same as the children born from incest that ruled for centuries.”

 

Silence fills the room. Sansa rests her hands on her lap, trying her best to hide her nerves. This trip to Bravos cost her, and if she comes empty-handed, there will be consequences. 

 

Tycho steps forward. “If we lend you money for your husband’s war, Sansa Stark, we expect to be paid. How can we be sure that King Jaehaerys win?”

 

“We have the North and the Vale, and if we are to receive a loan, we will have more men to fight for our cause. Jaehaerys…” Sansa pauses. Jon’s birth name still feels so foreign on her tongue. She sits tall and refocuses. “When my brother Robb took up arms against the Lannisters, my mother and my brother fell, leaving Winterfell to the Boltons. House Stark was all but dead until Jaehaerys Targaryen fought and won. The Boltons were the first to go, followed by the mysterious death of the Walder Frey. We have allies waiting to fight for our cause. Noho Dimittis, Tycho Nestoris—you have dealt with Cersei. You know that she doesn’t keep her word. When Jaehaerys III Targaryen sits on the throne, you will be repaid.”

 

Silence falls on the room. It takes everything in her to keep her composure and her worry from spilling out for all to see. Sansa dons a mask of confidence as the two bankers whisper to one another.

 

Tycho Nestoris rises to his full height and looks to Sansa. “When you finish your war, we expect payment. Casterly Rock’s resources will be returned to us as payment for Cersei Lannister’s long-standing debt. Are we agreed?”

 

Sansa glances to Lord Reed. He nods to her in approval. Sansa turns back to the two bankers. “We are agreed.”

 

“We look forward to working with Jaehaerys III Targaryen in the future,” Tycho Nestoris says with finality.

 

“Thank you,” Sansa rises from her seat and curtsies before taking her leave.

 

Hope courses through her. It’s like her entire life has been reborn. Things that so often used to go wrong for her are starting to go right. Sansa smiles to herself. The young girl of thirteen she once was could have never dreamed of the life that she is living now.

 

A Northern soldier steps toward her and hands her rolled parchment. Sansa glances at the Stark seal and breathes a sigh of relief. It is only Arya. Sansa breaks the seal and notices that two letters have been rolled into one.

 

_Sansa, the Night’s Watch has an urgent message for you. I’m not sure how Jon wants to respond to this, but it is urgent that he sees this as soon as he can._

 

_-Arya_

 

Sansa looks over Arya’s poor penmanship and also the poor wording of her letter. She reminds herself to teach Arya how to properly prepare a letter when she returns North. Sansa places Arya’s letter behind the second letter and looks to a letter penned by an Eddison Tollet.

 

_To His Grace King Jaehaerys III Targaryen,_

 

_The Night King’s army advances on the wall with each day that passes. We need a permanent solution or all will be lost. I would like to invite you to the Dragon Pit with the rest of the Great Houses of Westeros to discuss a permanent solution to the Army of the Dead. If we cannot work together, it may be the end of life as we know it._

 

_-Eddison Tollet  
_

 

Sansa has been so preoccupied with Cersei Lannister and Daenerys Targaryen that the Night King’s army had slipped away from her. That familiar sharp feeling of worry settles in her gut. Sansa’s breath catches in her throat as she tries to think of how she might get in contact with Jon.

 

Sansa rolls the parchment and tucks it inside her cloak. She’s closer to Jon than she’s been since he left for Dragonstone. There has to be some way that she can meet with him before returning to Winterfell.

 

“Daenerys’ armies are at war in Lannisport,” Sansa looks to Lord Reed. “Send word from _Eddison Tollet_ that a ship wishes to rendezvous with Samwell Tarly outbound from Bravos. Have the Stark sails removed from our ships and replaced with black sails."

 

It’s a risky move. But, if she doesn’t act now, she has the feeling that next time she sees Jon that he will be nothing more than a pile of ash.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is all "Jon, I'm gonna get you out of there."


	20. Jon X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I'm back with the next chapter! I two-thirds done with this story and it's been a hell of a ride! I can't believe how far this story has come. I really have to thank all of you though for supporting this story. The response for this just really makes me so glad that I took the time to write this for all of you.

The steps of Dragonstone seem endless. This may be his ancestors' home but Jon prefers the simplicity of Winterfell. He eyes Daenerys from a distance as apprehension fills him. A green dragon flaps its wings and makes its descent right before her. Jon takes cautious steps toward Daenerys. There’s this part of him that believes that this may be the moment she will order him burned.

 

Daenerys pivots on her left foot to face him. Jon stops a few feet away from her. Her purple eyes look to him with fondness rather than the disdain she had shown him when they first met.

 

“Ah, Lord Tarly,” she addresses him with a title as if to dangle lands and lordship in front of him.

 

“You flatter me, your grace.” Jon forces a smile on his face. 

 

“It doesn’t have to be flattery,” Daenerys says. “I’m sure you’ve had time to think over my offer. Samwell—“

 

Daenerys’ voice seems to disappear from her when her violet eyes gaze up at him. He can see the adoration behind her queenly facade. Bile burns the back of his throat as his stomach turns with disgust. His father was this woman’s brother. Jon wonders if she knew the truth if she’d still be so interested in him. She might, but only if he discarded Sansa and his claim to the throne. Her adoration for him is based on the lie. 

 

“My Queen,” the title he gives her is just as much a lie as everything that has transpired between them. “You sent for me.”

 

“I want to show you my children,” Daenerys glances back toward a green dragon. “This one is the most even-tempered. I named him Rhaegal after my brother. I regret that now. It would seem that the people would rather see a fraud as King than myself so long as he is a man.”

 

“I don’t think that is the case, your grace.” Jon soothes his anger and keeps his face neutral. “The people of Westeros know who Jon Snow is. They don’t know you yet. If you showed yourself to be fair and compassionate, the people might open up to you ruling Westeros.”

 

“You believe Jon Snow to be kind and fair?” Daenerys’ look of adoration transforms into a look of fury.

 

Jon steps toward Rhaegal. He looks into the dragon's curious eyes. Jon had expected a more territorial reaction the closer he got to Daenerys, but the dragon seems to be more interested in him than her.

 

“Have you ever used these dragons, your grace?” Jon asks.

 

“You mean against others?” Daenerys’ voice becomes defensive. “When I’ve had to…”

 

“You can’t use them like that,” Jon says. “ _Not here—_ not when there is a family history like yours. I burned my hand when I first joined the watch. It was the most excruciating pain I’ve felt. I’ve been stabbed but nothing can compare to fire on your skin. Your grace, to force someone to die like that—“

 

“They don’t have to die that way,” Daenerys says. Her eyes dilated as she takes a step towards him. “If they accept me as their rightful queen—“

 

“And, what if they don’t?” Jon asks. “Do you think that the North will accept you over a sovereign they know? It’s not as easy as simply expecting people to follow you. You have to give them a reason to follow you. But, if you choose to use these dragons to burn cities and castles, all they will see you as is your father.”

 

“I am not like my father,” Daenerys insists.

 

“Then, prove that you aren’t,” Jon replies. “You don’t have to be your father. You can be a ruler that inspires others by being better than what people have seen.”

 

“Samwell,” Daenerys says his name with a softness that is so different from the tyrant he has perceived her to be. “If you were to be a lord, if you could advise me…”

 

 _If you would wed me_ —that’s what she wants to ask of him. Jon can see it in her eyes. “Is that what you want of me? To be your advisor?”

 

“Not just my advisor,” her violet eyes are softer than he’s ever seen them. He can feel her vulnerability pour off of her. 

 

“I am not a lord,” Jon reminds.

 

“But, you could be,” Daenerys offers.

 

Jon turns away from Rhaegal and looks over Dragonstone. Daenerys joins him by his side. “When I look upon your dragons, all I can think of is what it might be like to ride one.”

 

“I couldn’t even describe it to you,” a smile emerges on Daenerys face. “You would have to experience it for yourself.”

 

“And, when you ask them to create fire?” Jon asks. “What does that feel like?”

 

Her smile seems to turn to ash. Her eyes harden and she says, “I don’t enjoy it, Samwell. The word _Dracarys_ means more than death. Dragons can do more than just kill.”

 

“ _Dracarys?_ That’s what you say to command them to kill?” Jon asks.

 

“Not just to kill.”

 

Her confirmation of that single word is all that Jon needs. His facial features harden as he looks to her. “My father Randyll was a cruel man. You and I—we are different people. Your grace, there are plenty of Lords that will offer you your hand and spill blood for you without a second thought. I won’t. _I can’t._ It wouldn’t be right.”

 

“Then, return to the wall,” Daenerys says through gritted teeth. “If you wish to die for nothing so be it. An emissary has been sent to fetch you outbound from Bravos. But, _Samwell_ , when you lay dying at the hands of the Night King, you will remember that I offered you something more. I expect that you and your men will deal with the threat behind the wall. I want you and your men off this island by first light.”

 

Daenerys walks passed him, her shoulders abruptly hitting his arm as she walks away in a huff. Truly, his words have cut her deep. But, despite it all, it has made her intentions apparent. She will wage war with fire against Winterfell. 

 

Jon follows a good distance behind her as she storms down the steps. He freezes when he sees Tyrion Lannister approaching her. Jon ducks out of Tyrion’s line of sight and keeps himself still. Daenerys is shouting something at him. The invasion of Lannisport has clearly ended in failure.

 

“If I have underestimated our enemies—“

 

“Our enemies? Your family, you mean?” Daenerys shouts. “Perhaps you do not want to hurt them after all!”

 

The word _hurt_ makes Jon’s insides twist.

 

“With the right plan…” Tyrion begins but is cut off again.

 

“Enough with your plans!” Daenerys shouts. “I can take Lannisport with Drogon!”

 

“We’ve discussed this…” Tyrion’s voice sounds so helpless.

 

“My enemies hold Lannisport,” Daenerys’ voice is hard. “What Queen am I if I cannot take a simple territory. We’re doing this my way and I will assure us victory through fire and blood.”

 

Jon turns away and walks back up the steps. Rhaegal hasn’t moved. It’s as if the dragon has waited for him to return. Jon holds out his hand to the dragon. Rhaegal leans over, touching Jon’s gloved hand with the tip of his nose for only a moment. Rhaegal spreads his wing and lets out a piercing cry before flying out into the sky.

 

A weapon as powerful as a dragon can be devastating. Jon cannot imagine using dragon’s fire on another human, but fire melts ice. It might be the only weapon strong enough to defeat the Night King’s army. Jon glances down at the beach. Tyrion and Daenerys have left. If the Night’s Watch has a ship waiting for him, he might as well leave before Daenerys discovers who he is.

 

Jon moves down the steps. Ser Davos is walking toward him. “Maester Tarly, we’ve been asked to leave.”

 

“I am aware,” Jon replies. “We have enough dragonglass to supply our men. We need to leave now. The longer we stay here…”

 

Jon’s voice trails off when he sees Lord Varys approaching them. Silence falls over the three of them. Jon glances at Lord Varys and says, “If you want to leave with us, now is your chance. If you stay with her, _if she burns cities to the ground_ , you will also be held responsible for aiding her. We all have to live with the consequences of our actions, Lord Varys.”

 

“You believe she will burn cities?” Lord Varys asks.

 

“She’s burned her enemies before,” Jon says. “It doesn’t sound like she feels remorse for it.”

 

There’s a deafening silence that passes between the three of them. Jon glances at Ser Davos who has a look of horror on his face. Jon pivots back to Lord Varys and says, “I don’t have the intention of burning human beings, Lord Varys. It doesn’t matter if they are Lannister armies or Cersei Lannister herself. It is not our place to pass such cruel punishment on our enemies. We are Kings, not Gods. Justice can only be passed when it is fair, anything more than that is cruelty. You have a choice, Lord Varys. I hope you’ll make the right one.”

 

Jon turns to Davos and walks back toward the mines. He needs to take his final inventory of dragonglass before they leave. A piercing cry sounds from above. Jon glances at up at the sky. It would seem that Rhaegal is following him.

 

* * *

 

The last crate of dragonglass is being transported to their ship. Jon stares out at the ocean water. He clenches his fists together and releases them. He’s so close to leaving—so close to getting out of this hell. Sansa is all that he can think of. He can almost see her red hair waving as snow falls in Winterfell so perfectly in his mind.

 

“Samwell Tarly,” Daenerys’ voice is cold.

 

Jon turns to face her. He expects to see a scowl on her face but her features become soft when she looks up to him. She still holds him in high esteem even after their spat. 

 

“Your grace,” Jon addresses her by her to simmer the tension between them.

 

“I’m leaving for Lannisport,” Daenerys states. “Cersei Lannister will be removed from power. I will see the end of her tyranny. Upon going North do speak to the Lady of Winterfell to yield to me in favor of the fraud, Jon Snow.”

 

“The last Lady of Winterfell was Catelyn Stark who died at her brother’s wedding,” Jon states. “Sansa Stark does not see herself as Lady Stark but as Queen Consort to Jaehaerys III Targaryen. I don’t expect her to betray her husband, your grace.”

 

Daenerys scoffed. “She left her last husband to stand trial for Joffrey’s murder. I don’t see why she wouldn’t do the same under the right circumstances.”

 

“That marriage was arranged by the Lannister. You cannot have expected Sansa Stark to honor a marriage made by her enemies,” Jon states. “That being said, Tyrion Lannister wasn’t the last person she was married to. A lot of events have shifted since Lord Tyrion fled Westeros.”

 

Daenerys eyes him with mild contempt. “It doesn’t matter and that wasn’t even my original point. There appears to a new Lady of Winterfell. Lady Arya Stark has taken her father’s place as Warden of the North. I’ve been informed by my hand that she and Sansa Stark dislike each other.”

 

It takes everything for Jon to keep his features neutral. _Arya is alive._ He swallows the lump in his throat before speaking. “Lord Commander Snow spoke highly of his youngest sister. It would be pointless to ask. I am sorry, your grace. I understand that you are looking for allies, but the North is the wrong place to look.”

 

There’s a silence that passes between them. “Samwell Tarly, the North belongs to the Seven Kingdoms. I am their ruler by right of birth. If Lady Arya Stark can’t respect me…”

 

“Your grace, threats of war isn’t going to win you allies,” Jon's voice hardens. “I’ve never been across the Narrow Sea. I don’t know much about eastern politics. Using force might have gained you respect in the territories you conquered east of here, but it will only gain you enemies in the west. Lords and Smallfolk are used to threats from Aerys, Joffrey, and now Cersei after she burned the Great Sept to the ground. If you go to Lannisport and burn castles, you aren’t different from Cersei. You’re exactly the same.”

 

Jon expects Daenerys to lash out and insult him. She stares up at him as if she’s begging him to stay. 

 

“I wish you good fortune in the wars to come, your grace,” Jon turns away from her and heads back to the dragonglass mine.

 

Davos approaches him with a look of urgency on his face. “We need to leave now.”

 

“Take the boat back to our ship,” Jon orders.

 

“You’re not coming with us?” Davos asks.

 

“I’ll be right behind you,” Jon says. “Trust me.”

 

Jon glances at the cliff that Rhaegal rests on. _Please let this work_ is all Jon can think. He walks through the beach sand and up a rocky hill. Jon reaches the end of the cliff and approaches Rhaegal. Jon holds his hand out as he looks into Rhaegal’s eyes. Rhaegal dips his head and neck down. Jon breathes and all he can think is _don’t burn me alive_ as he approaches the dragon. Jon climbs onto Rhaegal’s back and grips the dragon’s scales in his hand. He looks to see the last boat reach the ship. Davos and the rest of his men are safe. Now is the time to leave.

 

Jon sucks in a deep breathe. He brushes his left hand across Rhaegal’s scales as if he were petting Ghost. “We can do this. Trust me.”

 

The dragon roars and flaps its wings. Jon grips the dragon’s scales tightly and draws in a deep breath. Rhaegal leaps off the cliff and flaps his wings against the open air. Jon looks down at the beach below. Daenerys is looking up to him. He can’t see her facial features, but in that moment, he can see that she discovered that he is not Maester Samwell Tarly of the Night’s Watch. The man right under her nose played her like a lute. She must feel so insulted and maybe a little bit foolish too.

 

Jon looks forward. _To Bravos_ is all he can think. The more distance he has between him and Daenerys Targaryen the better. 

 

* * *

 

The wind is harsh as he flies through the sky. Jon doesn’t even know how long he’s been on Rhaegal’s back. All he can think is to hold on as tightly as possible. Jon wonders if Daenerys’ ships are in pursuit of them. It would have taken her time to prepare a fleet to chase their ship. 

 

A sharp feeling runs through him when he sees a ship with black sails. Jon wonders which one of his allies has come for him. Jon motions for Rhaegal to move closer to the ship and flies directly above it. He eyes the lower deck to see Sansa’s red hair waving freely in the wind. She turns to look up at him. Jon circles the ship till he’s close enough to leap off of Rhaegal. His legs string from the fall when his feet hit the wooden paneling of the ship. Jon's feet move forward to till he is able to catch his balance. He falls into a crouching position. When he looks up, he sees Tully blue eyes looking down on him. 

 

Jon rises to his full height. Sansa throws herself on him. When Jon catches her, he lifts her off her feet just as he had when they first reunited. 

 

“I was so afraid,” Sansa whispers to him. “I had to come and get you.”

 

“I’m here now,” Jon reassures. “I’m safe.”

 

Jon sets her down on her feet. He turns to see Lord Reed and Brienne of Tarth. Ghost trots toward him. Jon leans down and runs his gloved hands through Ghost’s fur. 

 

When Jon rises to his feet, he turns to Lord Reed and says, “Davos is behind us with dragonglass. I also acquired a dragon.”

 

“Jon... _how?_ ” Sansa asks.

 

“I stole it.”

 

“Daenerys will be angry,” Lord Reed states. 

 

“I’m sure she is,” Jon says. “I don’t care. If we have any chance of beating the Night King, we need this dragon.”

 

“Jon…” Sansa says. “Arya’s home.”

 

“I know,” Jon places his hand on Sansa’s arm. “I was told in Dragonstone. Daenerys asked me to advise Arya to yield to her.”

 

A mischievous smile emerges on Sansa’s lips as her eyes lower to the wood paneling. “As if Arya’s ever answered to authority well…”

 

Jon grins. “I can only imagine how Arya might respond.”

 

Jon can see Arya scribbling a note of insults to Daenerys and slamming a seal onto it. The very thought brings a smile to his face.

 

“I’m glad that you have been returned safely to us, your grace,” Lady Brienne says. 

 

“I’m glad you are in good health, my king,” Lord Reed says. “But, there are urgent matters to attend to. We must go to King’s Landing. The Night’s Watch wants to unite the Great Houses against the threat behind the wall.”

 

“Cersei and Daenerys won’t listen,” Jon replies. 

 

“No, but others might,” Lord Reed advises. “This is our chance to make allies. Eddison Tollett has asked us all to meet him at the Dragonpit of King’s Landing. You must attend or the Great Houses will feel insulted.”

 

“Edd did?” Jon asks. “If Edd asked, I will attend.”

 

Jon glances at Sansa. He doesn’t want to think of Cersei, Daenerys, or the Night King. All he wants is to be alone with Sansa.

 

“We will make our plans at first light. Right now, I need rest,” Jon states and walks past Brienne and Lord Reed. 

 

Jon hadn’t meant to be so abrupt when he left them standing on the lower deck, but all Jon can think of is being alone. He’s been under Daenerys’ watchful eyes for days and now he feels as if he can be himself again.

 

Jon walks by Sansa’s side until he reaches their quarters. He opens the door for her and closes it behind him when he enters the room. He stands across from her. Jon isn’t sure what he should do or say now that they are alone.

 

“You let your hair down,” is the first thing that leaves his lips.

 

“That’s how you like it, isn’t it?” Sansa says.

 

Sansa’s eyes lower. Jon steps toward her and lifts her chin to raise her eyes to his. He brushes a strand of hair from her face before he presses his lips against hers. All he knows is that he wants her. Jon lifts her off her feet and carries her to the bed. When he breaks their kiss and looks down on her, all he can think of is the pale skin underneath her dress. His fingers unclasp the dragonflies at the front of her silver dress. He needs this. _He needs her._  

 

Sansa shrugs out of the sleeves of her dress and allows Jon to lift her dress over her head. Sansa kicks out of her heels. Jon lifts her shifts over her head and tosses the simple clothing off to the side of the bed. Jon looks down on her naked body, taking in the sight of her. His skin feels hot underneath his heavy clothes at the sight of her.

 

Jon’s fingers run along the inside of her legs till he reaches between her legs. His fingers trace slow circles against her, causing her breath to hitch in her throat.

 

“Jon,” she breathes his name in a soft whisper.

 

Jon crawls toward her and lays on top of her. He looks into Sansa’s blue eyes and strokes the side of her face. It’s as if he has the world in the palm of his hand, and when he looks down upon her, she is all that exists. Nothing else matters—not the Night King, Cersei, or even his power-hungry aunt.

 

Jon leans forward and presses his lips against hers. He kisses her lips before kissing down her neck to her chest. He kisses her navel before he parts her legs to taste her. She tosses, turns, and writhes underneath him. The way she pleads for him in soft whispers only encourages him. 

 

Jon had almost forgotten how she tasted and the way she runs her hands through his hair. He almost forgot it all— _almost_ . _Jon_ —she whispers his name in a quiet plea. _Jon_ —she cries out his name as if they are the only two people left alive. He can feel her legs tremble in his gloved hands as she comes apart underneath him. 

 

Jon crawls on top of her and looks into her blue eyes. She places her hand on his cheek. Jon shuts his eyes. He hadn’t realized how truly miserable he was at Dragonstone—hadn’t realized how truly alone he felt without Sansa.

 

“Jon…” Jon’s eyes snap open at the sound of Sansa saying his name. Her hands are pawing at the black cape that he once believed that he wear for life. She releases the leather straps as she shrugs it off to his sides. Jon unbuttons the leather vest and shrugs out of the vest before lifting his black tunic over his head. Jon pulls his gloves off and tosses them to the side.

 

Sansa’s hand presses his shoulder to motion for him to roll over and lay on his back. One glance is all it takes for him to fall under her spell as if she were a witch working magic against him with just her eyes. Her lips press against his in a soft kiss before she kissed down his neck. Her hands are fumbling with his trousers. Her kisses trail down his chest and abdomen until her lips touch his cock. 

 

Jon’s breath hitches in his throat as a sharp feeling cuts through him. Ygritte had done this for him several times, but he would have never expected it from a highborn lady. A groan escapes him as her tongue works against him, sending waves of pleasure through him. His fingers run through her hair. _Gods_ , she’s so good.

 

“Gods, Sansa,” he mutters before he draws a sharp breath through his teeth. 

 

His head is swimming as he gets closer and closer to that breaking point. His breath catches in his throat as his muscles tense. Jon grits his teeth when he finds the escape he needed after what felt like endless nights of never-ending hell on Dragonstone. He catches his breath in heavy pants. 

 

“Sansa,” he breathes her name before pulling her towards him so that he can look upon her face. “You going to make me go mad.”

 

He hadn’t thought of the words before they left his lips. Sansa giggles and he can’t help but laugh with her.

 

“Well,” Sansa leans forward to kiss his forehead. “Make me burn, _Jaehaerys._ ”

 

Jon turns Sansa over on her back. He’s thought about her underneath him since he left Winterfell. The thought of being with her just like this one more time was the one thing that got him through the pressure put on him in Dragonstone.

 

Jon presses his lips against hers and grazes his tongue over her lips. She wraps her arms around his neck and parts her lips in a soft gasp. The taste of her is so intoxicating. Jon reaches between them, his fingers touching between her legs. He circles around that spot that makes her twist and turn underneath him. She needs him as much as he needs her. 

 

Jon thrusts inside her, moving slowly at first. He breaks their kiss and looks into her eyes. In this moment, there is just her and him. It’s hard to believe they’re together like this. Sometimes he still feels like the bastard leaving Winterfell behind to take the black. It’s hard to believe all that has transpired since he was brought back from the dead.

 

Jon shifts as he thrusts inside her. The way her eyes roll back and the way she gasps only encourages him. His name leaves her lips in soft whispers as she draws him closer to him. He can feel her body tense underneath him. He’s close now— _so close._ His mind seems to splinter as he finds release. 

 

Jon’s vision blurs for a moment before he finds his senses. Jon almost questions if it’s just another dream. He fears for only a second that he’ll wake up to the sounds of waves crashing against sand—that he’ll awaken to Dragonstone. But, it feels too real to be a dream. 

 

Jon lays on his back and draws in a deep breath. Sansa curls into him and rests her head on his chest. They lay in silence as if time has frozen still.

 

Sansa is the first to break the silence. “I was afraid you’d never come back.”

 

Jon glances downward to look into her eyes. “I was afraid I’d never see you again.”

 

“What was she like?” Sansa asks.

 

Jon knows exactly who this _she_ is that Sansa is referring to. “She’s _difficult._ ”

 

“Is she like your grandfather?” Sansa’s voice quivers slightly when she speaks.

 

“I’m afraid she might be.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa are finally reunited! :D


	21. Sansa X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, I managed to update quickly! Honestly, this was one of the chapters I could not wait to write so it just came to me so easily. Thank you all for the response for the last chapter! I love hearing from you all, and so many people commented. I appreciate you all so much!

Dread—it’s the only emotion Sansa can process as her feet carry themselves to the Dragonpit. This city she dreamed of living in as a child had once become her prison. Lord Reed and Lady Brienne are on each side of her. _“I’ll be right behind you,”_ Jon had promised. Sansa knows that he will be true to his word, but she still wishes he could be by her side with each step she takes on Lannister soil.

 

 _It doesn’t belong to the Lannisters._ Cersei is neither Baratheon truly nor a Targaryen. Her entire claim rests on the lie that her children were Robert’s heirs. Cersei had believed she marry Prince Rhaegar or so Petyr Baelish had told her. Sansa wonders what might be going through Cersei’s head now that all these older lords' secrets are being pulled into the light.

 

The direwolf crown feels heavy on her head. Sansa had grown up believing that she’d be queen only to regret it. Now it would seem that her childhood dream has come to fruition. She wishes she could just fall through a hole in time and tell her younger self about Joffrey and Jon. She would have never left for King’s Landing if she knew her father’s secrets.

 

Lady Brienne steps forward and leads her into the Dragonpit while Ghost trails behind her. Sansa sees several banners waving to signify different houses. Sansa recognizes Tyrion, Jaime, and Cersei. It would seem that Cersei has chopped her golden hair off. There’s a man next to Cersei that wears the Greyjoy sigil as well as a man near Tyrion that wears the same Greyjoy sigil. Victarion and Euron appear to have chosen their Queens. 

 

Lady Olenna isn't present. _Is she even alive?_ It would seem that High Lords and Ladies die faster than they can reproduce these days. Sansa's eyes fall to the Martell banners to see who she assumes to be Arianne Martell with other Dornish allies flanking her. Sansa’s heart seems to stop when she sees Theon standing next to where Asha Greyjoy is sitting. Her feet dig into the ground to stop her from running to Theon and throwing her arms around him. _Thank the Gods he's alive_ , Sansa thinks to herself.

 

“Lady Sansa,” Cersei’s voice is sharp and condescending as ever. She leans forward in her chair with a sneer across her lips. “Your bastard half brother of a _husband_ was asked to attend. Where is he?”

 

“ _King Jaehaerys III Targaryen,”_ Sansa pauses to look directly at Cersei, “will be here shortly.”

 

“Hmmm,” Cersei glances to Tyrion with that same insolent smile on her lips. “And, where is the Mad Queen’s daughter? She was meant to be here, wasn't she dear brother?”

 

“My Queen will be here shortly,” Tyrion states.

 

Sansa walks to an empty seat set under Targaryen and Stark banners. Sansa sits down and places her hands on her lap. Her breath becomes short as her chest constricts. She wants to be anywhere but here. Ghost circles before he lays at her feet. Sansa can't help but think of Jon at the sight of the direwolf. _Where is Jon?_ He’s supposed to here. Sansa glances over her right shoulder to see Cersei glaring at her with a smile. 

 

Sansa forces her eyes forward to see a dragon in the skyline. The green dragon makes its descent to the ground. The dragon screeches loudly upon touching the ground, it’s breath alone feeling like wind rather than dragon’s breath. Jon leaps off the monstrous creature with a golden crown of dragons upon his head, dressed in the fine clothes of a southern lord rather than the northern furs she misses seeing on him. He walks toward Sansa and sits next to her. Jon leans toward her and whispers, “Maybe this will be enough to convince them.”

 

The green dragon shrieks again before flying up into the sky and off into the distance. It would appear that Daenerys had the same idea as Jon. A golden dragon descends from above. Daenerys leaps off of it just before the dragon's feet touch the ground. Her furious stare locks on Jon as she walks over to where Tyrion stands. She sits down and cast an angry look over to both Jon and Sansa.

 

Sansa notices that Brienne’s line of vision is on Jaime Lannister. His face looks as pale as Ghost’s fur as his good hand clenches the armrest of his chair tightly. He looks as if he’s seen death itself rather than dragons. 

 

When the golden dragon flies upward, a group of men dressed in all black enter the Dragonpit. Sansa notices Sandor Clegane with a crate strapped to his back. Sandor releases the crate and sets it on the ground. He looks to Sansa and says, "It appears the little bird has married the dragon."

 

Sandor steps away as Tyrion steps to the center of the pit. He turns to look to Cersei with a look of both frustration and also a look of sadness. “We are a group of people who do not like one another. We have suffered at each other’s hands one too many times. If all we wanted was more of the same, there would be no reason for this gathering. We are entirely capable of waging war on each other without meeting face to face.”

 

“So instead, we should settle our differences and live together in harmony for the rest of our days?” Cersei snaps.

 

Sansa leans over to look passed Jon so that she may look directly at Cersei. “May I remind you that it was you that started this war when you arrested my father in King’s Landing?"

 

Cersei’s eyes narrow when they look to Sansa. “Your father was a liar—apparently a pathological one considering that he told his bastard son that he was some lost dragon prince.”

 

“The Starks cannot ride dragons,” Jon states. “It is the blood of Old Valyria that allows one to ride a dragon not the blood of the First Men.”

 

Sansa can’t help but smile. It appears that Jon has been reading his histories in his spare time. Now if only she can convince Arya to do the same.

 

“Lord Commander Tollett,” Cersei says. “Please explain this _urgency_ that you were so eager to write to us about.”

 

“When I swore my vows to the Night’s Watch when I was five and ten, I had expected to see many dangers beyond the wall,” Eddison Tollett begins. “But, what I saw in Hardhome was far beyond anything I ever imagined to be possible. I have brought you all here today to discuss a threat greater than your armies, greater than your wildfire—greater than even your dragons.”

 

“What threat could possibly be stronger than my dragons?” Daenerys’ voice is cold and rich with arrogance. “Don’t waste my time, Lord Commander.”

 

Jon rises to his feet. He stands beside Eddison Tollett. His eyes stare down Daenerys before turning to Cersei. “This isn’t about living in harmony. _This is about living._ I can’t negotiate with an army that leaves corpses behind on the battlefield, but I can negotiate with all of you. Lord Command Tollett has brought us here so we can come together to defeat a common enemy. Now, I have been informed that there are one million people in this city alone. The Night King will make these people one million more corpses in his army.”

 

“I imagine for most of them it would be an improvement,” Cersei says.

 

Jon takes two steps toward Cersei. He scowls at her as his eyes narrow. “This is serious, Cersei. I wouldn’t be wasting my time with you of all people if it weren’t.”

 

“I don’t think it’s serious at all,” Cersei replies. “I think it’s just another one of your Northern lies. Your father sullied my children and my name before he met his end. Now, you’re here telling me that your Rhaegar’s son and there’s an army of corpses here to kill us all. You want to ask me for a truce, because your half-sister wishes to advance her position against me. I imagine you’ll ask me to pull back my armies and stand down while Northmen advance on King’s Landing.”

 

Cersei pauses and looks to Sansa before speaking once more. “I offered you a place in my court despite your father, your mother, and your brother’s treachery. I could have thrown you in a dungeon, but I allowed you to stay a lady in King’s Landing. My father even allowed you to marry into my family, and yet, you still harbor such hatred for me, Lady Sansa. I was a mother to you when you no longer had a mother to turn to.”

 

Sansa’s hands are shaking in her lap. Brienne’s hand falls to the hilt of her sword for a brief moment before pulling away. Sansa holds Cersei's stare as fury stirs within her. She opens her mouth to speak, but Jon steps forward to speak first. “You really believe _that_? Do you actually believe you were _like a mother_ to a young girl you held prisoner? I didn’t expect you to be a rational person, Cersei—not after all I’ve heard. But, I didn’t expect you to be this delusional.”

 

Cersei’s gaze turns back to Jon. “I’m delusional? Your claim rests on your Ned Stark’s word. Where is he now? _Dead_.”

 

“Jon Snow is not Jon Snow.” All eyes turn to Howland Reed who stands with his hands behind his back as he steps forth. “I was there the day Lady Lyanna gave birth to her son. Lord Stark did not wish for a newborn child to die because of Robert Baratheon’s rage. He swore me to secrecy, and out of compassion for an innocent child, I kept his secret. That is not of importance right now. What is important is that we listen to King Jaehaerys and Lord Commander Tollett discuss a greater threat we will all soon face and come to an agreement on how to deal with this threat that affects all of us."

 

“King Jaehaerys’ claim was built upon the death of Elia and her children!” Arianna rises and takes two steps forward. “They were my family. How can I be expected to follow Jaehaerys Targaryen when his entire existence is an insult to Elia’s memory?”

 

Jon’s eyes soften when he looks to Arianne Martell. Most of the Great Lords would take words such as hers as an attack, but it would seem that Jon does not. 

 

“Princess Arianne, I am sorry that my father abandoned Princess Elia. I’m sorry that by standing before you that you are reminded of a horrible tragedy that fell upon your aunt and my half-siblings. It should be my brother Aegon standing here with a crown rather than myself,” Jon pauses as his gaze falls on a large man in black armor. “ _But,_ when Tywin Lannister ordered Gregor Clegane to murder my father’s wife and their children, he rewarded him rather than placing his head on a spike. It would seem that Cersei Lannister would rather see him go unpunished for his crimes as well. Why is Gregor Clegane still alive, Cersei?”

 

“You, the alleged grandson of the Mad King, would dare to morally question me? You do know how Rickard and Brandon Stark died, don’t you?” Cersei glances to Daenerys. “And, you…? Your entire claim rests on this same man that would cook a man in his own armor.”

 

“You’ve cooked several men and women in the Great Sept!” Daenerys shouts. “How dare you of all people place judgment on my family!”

 

“Aerys is why Elia Martell is dead!” Princess Arianne shouts. “I won’t make peace with you Targaryens, and I especially won't make peace with the Lannister that keeps the Mountain alive!”

 

“Then, Dorne has now announced that it is in open rebellion with House Targaryen!” Daenerys announces. “I will see that you are punished for your treason!”

 

Sansa places her head in her hands. This entire meeting was a mistake. She feels so foolish for even coming down to King’s Landing. She can’t even focus on the voices around her. All she can think of is Arya at Winterfell and an army of dead men marching on her.

 

“Enough!” Jon shouts as he raises one hand to signal for everyone to be quiet. He drops his hand to his side and looks upon every individual in the Dragonpit. “I’m tired of hearing you all squabble about events that we cannot change. Lord Commander Tollett has brought us all here today to show us what we are facing. _Gods_ , please all of you stay silent so that we do not continue to waste the Lord Commander’s time.”

 

Jon and the men of the Night’s Watch back away from the box laid on the ground. Sandor approaches the box and kicks it over before rushing away from it. A high pitched screech emanates from the box before a skeletal figure rushes out of it. It rushes toward Cersei but is stopped by a chain before its hand can reach her. 

 

Sandor pulls the skeletal figure backward and cuts it in half with his sword, leaving the torso of it still screeching on the ground. He cuts its arm from its body before leaving it to screech helplessly on the floor. Lord Commander Tollett offers Jon a torch and lights it for him.

 

“We can destroy them by burning them,” Jon demonstrates by lighting the hand on fire and dropping it to the ground. He pulls a black dagger from his belt and continues, “And, we can destroy them with Dragonglass. If we don’t win this fight, this corpse will be the fate of every living person in the world.”

 

Jon drives the dagger into the torso of the corpse, silencing its horrific screams. Sansa leans back in the chair. _This_ is what Jon was so afraid of. She closes her eyes. She had been so fearful of Cersei that she hadn’t realized there was a greater threat marching on Winterfell.

 

Jon steps forth to Cersei. “I know you hate me. I know you hate my wife. I know you hate Lord Stark for speaking the truth against you. But, right now, that doesn’t matter. Winter is here, and with winter comes the Night King and his army.”

 

It is Jaime who answers him. “How many are there?” 

 

“When King Jaehaerys and I left Hardhome, there had to be a hundred thousand at least,” Lord Commander Tollett speaks. “I’m certain there are more.”

 

“Your dragon,” Jaime pauses. “You don’t intend to use that on people. You mean to use it against these _things_.”

 

“I was raised a Stark despite my father’s bloodline. I can only honor Rickard and Brandon by correcting my family’s crimes,” Jon answers. “I will not burn living people. You have my word.”

 

Jaime kneels before Jon. Sansa rises to her feet as Brienne steps forward. A gasp of shock escapes Brienne as she looks upon Jaime. Sansa studies Brienne's features. She hadn't realized that Brienne was fond of Jaime Lannister prior to now.

 

“I pledge my sword to King Jaehaerys of House Targaryen,” Jaime says. “I will fight for you and Sansa Stark against the Night King. That is if you will have me, your grace.”

 

“I need all the men I can get,” Jon replies. 

 

Cersei’s lips turn into a snarl. “You will do no such thing!”

 

Jaime rises to his feet and turns his back to Cersei. He walks away from her and stands by Brienne’s side. They share a small glance before turning to face Jon.

 

Asha rises to her feet and steps forth. “I too will pledge faith to King Jaehaerys of House Targaryen by the counsel of my brother Theon. You have my ships and you have my men, your grace.”

 

Arianne is the next to come forth. “I will call a truce with King Jaehaerys and offer my aid until the Night King is defeated. House Martell has bled through the death of Elia and her children, but right now there is a higher calling. You have my men, King Jaehaerys, until the Night King has been dealt with. Prove yourself worthy and Dorne will bend the knee."

 

Euron steps toward the center of the Dragonpit with a horn in hand. There’s a grin upon his face as he looks back to Jon. “I did not come to this meeting to kneel to you, Jaehaerys, and be your good little lord. I don’t wish to be a lord. I wish to be a King. Now Daenerys over there has rejected my offer, but Cersei hasn’t. You say fire can destroy these things?”

 

Jon doesn’t answer him. He merely stares down Euron as his fists clench together.

 

“See, I believe you. You’re not Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell. Straight-laced, good ole Eddard Stark wouldn't be on the road, lying with common whores like his buddy, Robert. Now, I’m sure Cersei doesn’t want to believe it. And, I know damn well Daenerys over there doesn’t want to admit it, because that would turn her claim to ash. But, I know you're telling the truth, dragon boy. And, you know how?” Euron pauses, waiting for Jon to answer. 

 

Jon doesn’t answer. He remains still as a statue as Euron circles him.

 

“Well, I’ll tell you how I know, Jaehaerys. No Northman has ever been able to ride a dragon until you came along. Can you imagine Lord Eddard Stark riding a dragon?” Euron cackles at his own words. “But, you know what makes me so angry? That you get to a ride dragon because your mother managed to fuck the right man with the right bloodline. Do you know how many men went to war and died on the battlefield because your whore of a mother spread her legs for your father? And now, you get to wear your pretty little crown and get to ride your dragon while the rest of us have to accept that you're our ruler. Well, I don’t have to accept it, because I have methods of my own. I’ve been eyeing that golden dragon in the sky since this little meeting began. I mean to leave with it.”

 

Daenerys takes an abrupt step toward Euron. Euron brings his lips to the horn and blows. The sound that emits from the horn is the most horrible, piercing sound Sansa has ever heard. The dragon screeches and twitches in the sky before falling into the Dragonpit. Euron turns to Cersei, and then to Daenerys. “Your dragon belongs to me now, and King’s Landing no longer belongs to the Lannisters. You are now looking upon your new sovereign, King Euron I Greyjoy.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLOT TWIST!
> 
> That being said, I'm pretty sure something like this is what happens to Viserion on the books. I always thought the wight hunt in the show was lame, anyways. So, I took some inspiration from what we know in the novels. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	22. Jon XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an idea of where these chapters were going so I was able to swiftly update three chapters within a weeks time for you guys. I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

Viserion lays motionless on the ground. The entire Dragonpit has become as quiet as the ghosts of Winterfell. Jon stares down Euron as if he were Ghost staring down his prey. His right hand finds the hilt of Longclaw. If he can just drive a blade of Valyrian steel through Euron’s heart, this will all be over. A loud groan escapes from Viserion as the dragon’s head rises from the ground. Jon side steps to his left to prevent himself from being in Viserion’s line of fire. 

 

Slicing through Euron is no longer a priority. Jon takes backward steps until he’s directly in front of Sansa. They need to get out of this pit before they discover how much control Euron has over Viserion.

 

“This pit is going to be torched with fire in mere moments,” Brienne states. “We must leave.”

 

Viserion stomps its feet as he rises to his full height. He stands directly in their path to the exit. Jon can feel sweat slide down the back of his neck. He draws Longclaw from its sheath and maps out the best possible path to the exit in his mind. They can’t take the stairs off the platform. They’re going to have to leap off from the left side and make a run for the exit.

 

“I will charge the dragon as a diversion,” Jaime says to Brienne. “While I distract it, make sure that the queen and king escape.”

 

“You do intend to come back, Ser Jaime?” Brienne’s voice cracks when she speaks Jaime Lannister’s name.

 

“That is the plan. I don’t exactly intend to become dragon shit by tomorrow morning,” Jaime jests with a half smile before rushing towards Viserion.

 

Viserion takes two heavy steps forward. His neck extends outward before he releases a loud cry. Jon’s red cape flaps backwards as if it were hit by a gust of wind rather than the hot breath from Viserion. Every muscle in his body tenses when he looks directly into Viserion’s eyes. The dragon’s eyes are dull as if they have no life left in them.

 

“Over here!” Jaime shouts as he races toward Viserion with his sword raised. The dragon lifts its head into the sky and roars before fixing its gaze on Jaime. The dragon cries out as it takes its aim. 

 

Jon takes Sansa’s hand in his as they move to the edge of the platform. Both of them leap of the platform before Jon leads the way to the exit. The sound of fire fills his ears. He wants to look back to see if Jaime Lannister still lives but all he can do is look to the exit of the Dragonpit.

 

Jon’s heart pounds as he crosses through the exit and a small rush of relief comes over him. They’re no longer in Viserion’s line of sight—at least for now. Jon scans the skyline above him in search of Viserion only to see blue skies. They are safe for now. 

 

“We don’t know how much control Euron has over that dragon,” Jon glances to both Howland Reed and Brienne. “We need to get out of the city as quickly as possible.”

 

“Ser Davos is waiting for us at Blackwater Bay,” Lord Reed states. “If we want to leave the city, we will have to make it back to our ships.”

 

Euron Greyjoy exploited the Dragonpit truce to advance his position on all of his enemies. Jon is hot with rage. A part of him had hoped that the Great Houses would recognize the threat of the Night King, but perhaps he was naive to hope they’d set aside their differences. Instead, all of them were played like fools, and now Euron has control over the most powerful weapon a man can possess.

 

A Greyjoy soldier is riding toward Jon and raises a spear. Jon braces himself for the oncoming attack before charging forward. He side steps the spear and slashes the Lannister soldier off his horse. Jon ignores the man’s screams as he turns back to Sansa.

 

Jon sheaths Longclaw and lifts Sansa into his arms. He lifts her onto the horse before climbing on behind her. He grabs the reins in both his hands and looks down to Lord Reed. “I have to ensure my wife’s safety. We’ll meet at Blackwater Bay.”

 

With those words he pulls the reins of the horse and rides through the streets. The only thing that matters is that Sansa leaves this city unharmed. Jon can hear the cry of a dragon behind him. The horse seems to take a life of its own in its own fear and gallops at full speed. Jon can feel hot air from behind him as a stream of fire is launched from above. His entire body tenses in terror as a shadow hovers over him. The dragon breathes another stream of fire but this time right before them. 

 

Jon wraps both arms around Sansa and rolls off of the horse who continues to gallop straight into fire. Jon turns his eyes away from the sight before him only to see the charred body of a woman holding her child tightly in her arms. He draws Sansa close to him to shield her from the sight of it before climbing to his feet.

 

Smallfolk are running through the streets in terror, screaming as they try to find cover. Jon takes Sansa’s hand in his and ducks around a corner. He cups her face with both hands and asks, “Are you alright?”

 

Sansa nods into his hands. “I’m fine. I just want to leave. I hate this place. Just please get me out of here.”

 

Jon’s starting to hate King’s Landing himself. “I won’t let you die here. I’ll protect you. I promise.”

 

Jon draws his sword and moves through the street. A Lannister soldier spots him and charges him. Jon blocks his blade with Longclaw. He kicks the soldier back and thrusts his sword downward, driving it straight through the soldier’s chest. 

 

A cry from above makes him shudder. He turns to see Viserion perched on a building, eyes glaring down upon him. Jon shuts his eyes. _So, this is it?_ This is how he dies.

 

When Jon opens his eyes, he sees Rhaegal charging toward Viserion. Rhaegal breathes a stream of fire that causes Viserion to recoil backward. Viserion flies off into the distance as Rhaegal descends downward. Jon rushes toward Sansa and takes both her hands in his.

 

“Sansa, come with me,” Jon says. “We can escape on Rhaegal.”

 

“You want me to climb on that thing?” Sansa stares at the dragon with fear in her eyes.

 

“You’ll be safe with me,” Jon says. “I promise.”

 

Jon presses his forehead to Sansa and cups her cheek with one hand. He parts to kiss her forehead before he leads her to Rhaegal. Jon sheathes Longclaw and climbs onto the dragon. He looks down to Sansa. Her hands are on Rhaegal. She takes a deep breath before she climbs onto the dragon. Sansa wraps her arms tightly around Jon and presses her forehead against his back.

 

“Please just get me out of here alive,” she says. 

 

Rhaegal flaps his wings and rises from the streets of King’s Landing. Jon can feel Sansa’s grip around his waist tighten as they rise higher into the sky. Jon holds on tight as he directs Rhaegal to Blackwater Bay. His muscles relax as he looks down upon King’s Landing. The safest place both he and Sansa can be is on Rhaegal’s back. 

 

The wind feels cold against his cheeks as Rhaegal sores through the sky. The dragon crosses over the city gates and moves toward a group of ships with both the Stark and Targaryen flags waving in the southern wind. Jon directs Rhaegal downward toward his flagship. When Rhaegal flies close to the lower deck, Jon shifts so his left hand is around Sansa’s waist. She wraps her arms around Jon’s neck before they both leap from Rhaegal. 

 

The landing isn’t smooth in the slightest. Jon lands on his back with Sansa falling on top of him. She looks down on him with sheer shock in her eyes. Jon sits up and draws Sansa into his arms.

 

“You’re safe now, Sansa,” he reassures as he pulls her close to him.

 

The sound of boots hitting wooden paneling draws Jon’s attention to Davos. Jon and Sansa rise to their feet. Davos looks to Jon with that same gloomy look that seems to follow him wherever he goes.

 

“I imagine things didn’t go quite as planned, your grace?” Davos asks.

 

“No,” Jon says gravely. “We need to return North. This place isn’t safe for us.”

 

“What happened at the Dragonpit?” Davos asks.

 

“Euron Greyjoy had this horn. When he sounded the horn, it took control of one of Daenerys’ dragons,” Jon informs. 

 

“Dragonbinder,” Davos says. “I thought it only to be a legend, but apparently it’s real. We must leave here immediately.”

 

“What about Lady Brienne, Lord Reed, and Ghost?” Sansa protests. “They’re waiting for us.”

 

“We can leave a pair of ships for them, but right now I need to ensure that you and Jon stay safe,” Davos replies. “We need to leave.”

 

“We should leave,” Jon agrees. “If Viserion catches up, we might not survive his next attack.”

 

“I owe Lady Brienne my life,” Sansa’s voice trembles. “I can’t leave her here.”

 

“Lady Brienne knows how to take care of herself.” Jon turns to Sansa and brushes his hand against her cheek. “She would want you to leave. She wants to keep you safe. That was the vow that she swore to Lady Catelyn Stark.”

 

Sansa leans into Jon and wraps both her arms around his neck. Jon encircled his arms around her waist and holds her close to him. The amount of danger brought to her today has surely shaken her. Sansa has been through her share of awful experiences but being directly in a warzone is something that he had hoped to keep her from.

 

“Jon,” Sansa whispers. “I’m afraid. Not just for us but for Arya too.”

 

Jon cannot deny his own fears. They have enemies coming at them from so many different directions. This war won’t end without bloodshed. How many more people have to fight his war? If Jon didn’t fear what may come to be with Euron or Daenerys on the throne, he’d settle for only the North rather than ruling the Seven Kingdoms. Jon tightens his hold on Sansa, clinging to her as if she were his last lifeline. _Gods be good and allow me to protect her_ is all that he can manage to pray for.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At least my babies are safe! 😭


	23. Sansa XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for fast updates! This chapter is short and more of a transition chapter for The Battle for Winterfell. It seems so unreal, because after the Night King and Jon showdown, there's one arc left for this fic. I'm going to be so sad when it's finished.

The wind of Eastwatch nips at Sansa’s cheeks. She glances toward the end of the dock to see Jon draped in northern furs. His eyes glance out to the open water as his black cape flutters in the wind. King’s Landing was like living a night terror for both of them, but thank the Gods, they are alive.  
   
Sansa steps out onto the docks, her boots hitting hard against the wooden paneling beneath her. Jon turns, his brown eyes falling upon her. He holds out his hand to her and Sansa doesn’t hesitate to wrap her hand around his. They stand there looking out at the open water as snow descends from above.  
   
Sansa’s eyes flicker up to Rhaegal, circling above them. The dragon makes her nervous to this day, but she’s finally starting to feel at ease around him. At the very least, Rhaegal guarantees the North safety from their enemies. Sansa glances over to Jon. His face is wrought with worry. She hates to see him under so much pressure and wishes there was a way to chase his stress away from him.  
   
“We’re safe North,” Sansa reassures. “There are so many leagues between our enemies and Winterfell.”  
   
“But, they will come for us,” Jon replies.  
   
“If they don’t destroy each other first, yes, they will come,” Sansa says.  
   
Jon smiles. “If only we could be so fortunate. I’m tired of war. I’m tired of fighting.”  
   
Sansa has shared this sentiment since she became a political hostage after her father’s arrest, but things are better now than they’ve been before. The horror she felt when she was under Joffrey and Ramsay’s thumbs seems so far from her now. She remembers her anger and her pain. She carries it with her till this day, but it doesn’t hurt quite so much as it did when she had first arrived at Castle Black.  
   
Footsteps fall against the dock. Jon and Sansa turn to see Davos with two rolled pieces of parchment in hand. He hands one to each of them. “For you my Queen and you as well my King.”  
   
Sansa thanks Davos before she breaks the Lannister seal on the parchment. The way the letter is addressed confuses her. Sansa decides to read the letter aloud so that Jon may hear.  
   
“To Her Grace, Sansa Stark, the Queen in the North,  
   
Lady Brienne has asked that I write to you to inform you of the safety of your sworn knight Brienne of Tarth, Lord Howland Reed, and King Jaehaerys’ pet wolf as well. We intend to make our way to Winterfell to fight against the army of the dead once I order my soldiers to stand down at Riverrun. The Riverlands will join us in Winterfell to fight the Night King.  
   
Ser Jaime Lannister.”  
   
“Does Lady Brienne know Jaime Lannister?” Jon asks.  
   
“She was ordered to take him to King’s Landing by my mother so that I would be returned to her in a trade of hostages,” Sansa states. “She hasn’t spoken much about him in my presence, but it would seem that she’s fond of him.”  
   
“I don’t like it,” Jon says. “But, we shall see if Lady Brienne is right to trust him.”  
   
“What about the letter addressed to you?” Sansa asks.  
   
“Daenerys is making her typical threats,” Jon says. “I’m not worried about her. She’s lost two dragons and can’t seem to win over allies in Westeros. Tyrion isn’t a military commander and can’t seem to win her battles. She’s not as big of a threat as she likes to believe she is. We’ll deal with her when the time comes.”  
   
Davos places his hands behind his back as he looks to both of them. “The Riverlands, the Vale, and the North are fully committed to us. Asha Greyjoy has pledged faith to the both of you and it doesn’t seem impossible to win over Princess Arianne. House Baratheon and House Tyrell are dead. It would that you’re winning the war, your grace.”  
   
“The Vale, the Riverlands, and the North are all tied to Sansa.” Jon smiles when he looks at her. “I’m winning this war because I married the right person.”  
   
Sansa’s cheeks feel hot when he looks upon her. It’s still surreal that she’s actually married to a man she loves. She can’t help but return Jon’s smile. It’s nice when he recognizes her value. It’s different from the men that thought her to be weak and stupid.  
   
“We have Targaryens, Greyjoys, and Lannisters all fighting a war amongst themselves,” Davos states as he withdrawals another letter and hands it to Jon. “House Stark seems to stand together. That’s how we will win this war.”  
   
Jon breaks the seal. His eyes dilate as he takes in each word. He lowers the letter and laughs almost as if he’s laughing to fight tears of joy. “Bran’s home.”  
   
Sansa turns to look up into Jon’s eyes as relief fills her heart. “That makes him Warden of the North.”  
   
Jon shakes his head. “He doesn’t want it.”  
   
“So, he’s leaving it to Arya?” Sansa asks. Arya never wanted to be a lady, but now she’s been forced to step up in her brother’s place.  
   
“Arya states that Bran had been traveling with Meera Reed,” Jon remarks. “Lord Reed will be pleased to know one of his children still lives.”  
   
Lord Reed has been so busy constantly trying to advise them that he hardly mentions his children. They’ve been gone for so long, and apparently only one has survived. It’s bittersweet to be grateful for the mortality of a daughter but also to mourn a son.  
   
Sansa turns to look upon the icy water as she hears Davos’ footsteps fall away from her. It’s colder now than it was when she left for Bravos. Icy snowflakes touch the water, a cold reminder of the army marching toward the wall. _How long will the wall hold up?_ Sansa hopes that perhaps the wall will keep the army of the dead at bay, but she doubts that will be the case.  
   
Sansa leans into Jon. His right-hand wraps around her waist as she snuggles into his shoulder. How long will it be before the realm knows true peace? Sansa doesn’t even know if peace is even possible. It was long after Robert’s Rebellion that Cersei incited another war. Peace seems like wishful thinking more than a realistic goal to strive for.  
   
“There was a time that I believed Tyrion Lannister to be the smartest man I ever met,” Jon says. “That doesn’t appear to be true.”  
   
Sansa lifts her head off Jon’s shoulder to look into his dark eyes. He smiles at her as he holds her gaze. “You, Sansa, are the smartest person I’ve ever met.”  
   
Sansa leans back on his shoulder. “My father didn’t want me to marry Joffrey. I didn’t understand why back then. I was so young. I didn’t want to believe all the horrible things about him that my father and Arya saw in him, because that meant everything I thought I wanted could never be. But, father promised to make me a match—someone brave, and gentle, and strong, he had said. You are everything my late father has always wanted for me.”  
   
Sansa shifts so that she’s looking to Jon's face. He places a long, chaste kiss on Sansa’s lips. Her eyes flutter shut. The world may be ending as far as she knows, but none of it matters. Jon is her world right now, and so long as she’s with him, her fears are far behind her.


End file.
